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simon-says-nothing · 2 months

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Wyllstravaganza Day One: Perception

reflection (available on ao3 here)

rating: T

pairing: wyll/astarion

warnings: daddy issues, brief flashback, anxiety

preview:

“Unfortunately, darling, I’m not one of your heroic little conquests. I have standards.” Astarion has always been sharp with his words.

Wyll should be used to it by now. He has faced the fires of Avernus, taken on an entire camp of goblins, and, possibly worst of all, Duke Ulder Ravengard’s disappointment. The word standards shouldn’t affect him.

And yet.

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When he was young, he loved parties. There was something about the glamor of it, the sparkling wine and glimmering gold walls. There was something about knowing he was accepted there, that they wanted him around. That Wyll Ravengard, armed with his untailored clothes and the hard stare of his father, belonged. That he had a place among the greats.

When he was young, he would sneak glasses of wine until he was sick.

When he was young, he threw up into Dillard Portyr’s bushes, and laughed.

When he was young, he was never anything more than Wyll Ravengard, and that, in and of itself, was enough.

Now, he stares at the dusty mirror in front of him, and knows he’ll never belong anywhere again.

The horns ache. His skin itches from being stretched into fake smiles for too long. The ridges along his cheeks make him look every bit the devil his father thinks he is.

How many days ago was it that he was instructing the children on how to hold a blade? One, two?

He hopes they’ll forgive his absence. He hopes they’ll remember what he taught them.

He hopes—

“Brooding all by yourself, handsome?”

Wyll jumps halfway out of his skin, only to see Astarion standing behind him with a lazy smirk.

There is something simultaneously comforting and frightening about Astarion. He speaks with the same upper class lilt of his childhood, armed with a million passive aggressive words to refute any direct conversation. Wyll knows the language well.

Astarion, however, manages to use it in a way that is infinitely more irritating than any noble.

“Greetings, Astarion. I hope the party is treating you well?” His father taught him well. He will be damned if he is anything but polite. Even to a vampire that seems to believe no one else has noticed his proclivity towards biting enemies.

“Oh, if by well, you mean dreadfully boring, exceptionally tame, and overall a waste of time, then, yes.” He drawls, studying his nails.

Wyll grits his teeth. He won’t sink to Astarion’s level. He won’t.

“These people have suffered enough, Astarion. Why not grant them a few hours of respite? Gods knows their journey is far from over.”

“Don’t you ever tire of the hero facade? I haven’t seen any damsels in distress recently, so your rousing little speech falls on deaf ears.” He’s egging him on, Wyll knows he is.

“No? What about the damsel in front of me?” He smiles, the image of a perfect gentleman.

“I hope you’re not talking about me, darling.”

Wyll can’t help it. He was taught charm by the best, and mindless flirting is a language both of them seem to speak. If the nobility of Baldur’s Gate have taught him anything, it’s how to flirt. That, and seamlessly destroy your perception of yourself with a few well-placed words.

“You were carved in the same marble as the statues of damsels that stand in the Gate. Impossibly cold, impossibly beautiful, and yet, made of stone.” Wyll says it out of habit. It’s instinct.

He remembers days locked in his father’s library, pouring over old romantic poetry when he was supposed to be studying the history of the Flaming Fist. He remembers memorizing the way they spoke, the softness in it, the way it warmed his entire soul to read it.

Astarion has clearly memorized how to seduce. Wyll has only ever memorized the art of being a romantic.

“Oh, am I supposed to swoon here? Faint into your strangely muscular arms? Marvel at your blade?” The vampire punctuates his words by pressing his hand to his forehead, and Wyll has to physically resist rolling his eyes. “Unfortunately, darling, I’m not one of your heroic little conquests. I have standards.” Astarion has always been sharp with his words.

And yet.

His father’s face flashes in front of him, covered in the ash left by Tiamat.

“You are a Ravengard. Our family is held to a certain standard, now. What will they think of us now? What have you done?” It plays in his mind over, and over, and over.

What have you done?

What have you--

A pale hand waves in front of his face.

“Honestly, it wasn’t that harsh, I’d think a man who has quite literally faced devils would have thicker skin--”

When he blinks back into reality, he sees Astarion gesturing wildly. If he was in a better mood, it would’ve been entertaining to see him a bit panicked.

But tonight? With only the reminder of his own reflection, and a thousand memories whirling in his mind?

Wyll can only feel tired.

“I don’t need to meet your standards, Astarion. I’d say I always appreciate your input, but that would be dishonest. And heroes never tell a lie.” He can’t help the exhaustion seeping into his voice. “Now, if you don’t mind, I think it might be time for me to go to sleep.”

Astarion stops moving, opening and closing his mouth as he tries to find what he wants to say. It only lasts for a moment before his strange persona kicks back in, but Wyll notices.

He’d been trained to notice any cracks in an enemy’s armor.

“Wait.” Astarion recovers quickly, his voice only a touch colder than normal. “You stole my mirror. Hardly the most heroic thing to do, but even the Blade must have weaknesses.” His words are still a bit infuriating, but it’s the most direct Wyll has seen him.

A small step is still a step, and Wyll has always been an optimist.

“I apologize, Astarion. I’ll admit, I was going to ask you, but I didn’t want to pry. I’m sure mirrors can be a bit of a touchy subject.”

Wyll hears what he said after he says it, and winces. He’s entirely well-meaning, and, as stated above, he is polite.

But now he knows what it is to be disappointed in your own reflection.

The elf’s well-crafted facade cracks again.

Wyll sucks in a breath, and waits.

“Yes, mirrors can be difficult when you’re as beautiful as I am. Painful, really, to remember all the poor souls who have to look at themselves every day, and wonder what it might be like to be so blessed.” Astarion sighs dramatically, and Wyll breathes out.

A step back, maybe, but Wyll should have expected this. Astarion has more guards up than Counselor Florrick on a particularly stressful day.

He should just be glad Astarion doesn’t push the issue. He’s dealt with a vampire spawn provoked. He knows what he needs to do, if anything should come to violence.

But Wyll finds that he doesn’t want to kill Astarion. Despite the voice of his father in his head screaming otherwise. Despite the training carved into the very marrow of his bones urging him to grab the nearest stake.

It’s the first time denying the will of his father doesn’t feel painful.

Maybe that’s why he says,

“I already called you beautiful once tonight, Astarion. Don’t push it.”

Maybe it’s a rebellion.

It certainly feels like one when Astarion smirks, and it doesn’t feel sharp.

“I wouldn’t dare.” Astarion murmurs, and Wyll waits for the next pointed remark about his blade. But it never comes.

They stand in a sort of awkward silence, both having run out of their individual scripts.

For once, Wyll doesn’t mind having nothing polite to say.

For once, he doesn’t miss Baldur’s Gate so much it hurts.

For once, he can’t feel the weight of his father’s stare in the back of his mind.

Astarion extends a hand towards him, entirely too cheeky for his own right.

“Well darling? There’s a party just waiting for their favorite blade to show up and steal their mirrors.”

Perhaps it was too soon to expect Astarion to feel comfortable in the silence. But who is he to judge someone for their persona?

Both of them have survived by creating an image for themselves, perfectly crafted, never to break. Astarion’s is just a bit stronger than his, it seems.

But here, with the sound of his friends laughing, the light of the moon, and a few hefty swigs of terrible wine?

He finds he doesn’t mind Astarion’s company.

Wyll takes Astarion’s hand, and for the first time since these horns grew on his head, he doesn’t feel utterly alone.

Maybe this is what the poetry in his father’s study was written for. The feeling of being with someone who makes you feel just a little less lonely.

It’s enough to write novels for.

For now, a simple dance will have to do.

#wyllstravaganza2024 #wyll march #weastyr #my fic!

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toffeelemon · 19 hours

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celebrating WIPs 🤩

thank you for tagging @wilmonsfolklore here’s a snippet of what i have been working on 👀

Wilhelm thinks about that scene in their favourite book, the perfect, chaotic, dreamy moment when Alex asks Henry to dance and sparks fly in the midst of a crowded room, leading to their first kiss when Henry just couldn’t resist anymore. Wilhelm has written and rewritten that scene so many times, dreaming and yearning of catching a boy’s eyes in the middle of a party, dancing and touching. Wilhelm makes a fool of themself, laughing and chugging drinks and flipping his hair back, hoping and waiting for his fanfiction moment. That the boy who’s too good for them will spare a glance at them.

tagging @prince-simon @tooindecisivetopickaurl @ungaroyals pretty please share a line of wip can’t wait to see what yall are cooking🥺👉🏼👈🏼

#mayhaps i am returning to my rwrb crossover roots👀#or something #i’m so excited for this yall please hang on🥹#my fic!

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isozyme · 9 months

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promo posting, yes, that's a thing, i've started posting a new fic

link to CHAPTER 1

#my fic!#connor doesn't really 'do' dill #hrpf

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relicshamecircle · 1 month

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Happy Diarmute Week everyone!

Day 1: Sanctuary

There is one safe place in this world.

#diarmute week #pilgrimage 2017 #pilgrimage 2017 fic #diarmute #my fic!

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sebastienlelivre · 2 months

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(we really turned goodbye into a game to a hobby) you collected bones but i buried the bodies (all this back and forth, well, it's feeling pretty sloppy) | pre-relationship buck/eddie, mentions of eddie/marisol and buck/tommy | hurt, no comfort, sorry | 2.7k words | read on ao3

Buck and Eddie finally talk, but it's about exactly nothing that they need to talk about. It's easier to dig into the hurt after all.

"Big date?" There is an edge in Eddie's voice when he calls out across the station, and it's that edge that makes Buck stop and move towards the gym area. Normally....normally he would laugh and toss a joke over his shoulder as he headed to the door, but things hadn't felt normal since he had told the team that he and Natalia had failed at couch-buying and Eddie had come to work talking about the great date he had had with Marisol, and Buck's heart had stuttered at Eddie's words for reasons that Buck hadn't been ready to examine. Hell, even now, he isn't sure he's ready to examine why knowing Eddie was happy with someone else made him feel like his heart was going to give out. Buck doesn't say anything as he moves into Eddie's workout space, but the question must have been on his face as Eddie gestures with one of the weights in his hands. "Clothes. You're not usually dressed up when you're leaving shift early." Eddie frowns, but then he shrugs, and his expression clears. "Usually it's an emergency, you don't even change." Buck huffs out a breath, glancing down at his clothes. "Oh. Yeah?" Buck says as he takes a seat across from Eddie, setting his duffle bag on the bench next to him. "Well, I mean, me and Tommy are meeting some of the guys from the 226, so it's not a date-date. I covered for Mason last week, so he owes me a half-shift so you know, might as well," Buck explains with a shrug because it wasn't a date, nothing with Tommy was really a date, it was fun, it was no-strings-attached, it was as close to real friends-with-benefits that Buck had ever been in, it was a distraction, and when Eddie just huffs at him, and there's a moment where it seems like he's mocking Buck and it sets everything in him on edge. "What?" Now there was steel in Buck's voice, and Eddie's eyebrow lifts when he looks up at him, and normally Buck would apologize immediately, the second that eyebrow lifted. Normally. Things haven't been normal in a month or more.

Buck keeps his gaze even, meeting Eddie's eyes until Eddie breaks first, shrugging as he looks away to put his weights down on the ground between his feet. "You two've gotten close, and he's not even working with this house anymore."

"We get along."

"You didn't." Buck blinks at him. "At first. You hated him."

"I hated you too, you might remember," Buck replies, and Eddie offers a smile that seems tighter than his usual ones. "Look, Chim's got a wedding to plan, Hen's got a new baby, you've got...." Buck coughs then, clearing his throat with a shake of his head. "You're got your girl. Between her and Carla, you don't even need me to babysit," Buck smiles, the expression just as tight as Eddie's. He shrugs. "I don't exactly have a ton of options, right? Might as well make friends with the new guy that I get along with."

"Buck, we still hang out...."

"When? Basketball a month ago? Yeah, that ended well," Buck laughs and shakes his head. "Did you know Chris texted me last weekend with pictures of the trip he went on to the zoo now that they've got everything remodeled from the blackout. You know. The one he went on with you. And Marisol." Maybe that is really the reason that Buck has his guard up, the reason Buck's words are sharper and more defiant than usual, the reason Buck didn't immediately ask Tommy to reschedule so Eddie wouldn't be on shift and he could come too. But Buck has never thought clearly when his feelings are hurt, and it definitely hurts to see Chris out with someone else doing the things he used to do with Buck, things that he and Chris had already made plans to do, to see his place in Eddie's life, in the family they'd.... Buck clears his throat and shakes his head again.

"You had a girlfriend a month ago, Buck," Eddie says, shaking his head. "You were a little too busy to hang out too. I seem to remember weekend plans being canceled to go to yet another furniture store."

"Technically at that point I was canceling weekend plans in the hope of salvaging a relationship, it didn't work, and you never asked me about it," Buck says, punctuating his statement with his finger, and Eddie's forehead creased in confusion as he shakes his head.

"You never said...."

"That I failed at a relationship again? Yeah. It's a boring story, and you never liked her anyway," Buck says.

"I didn't know her, Buck." Buck raises his eyebrows in a question at that. "You went on three dates with her, she runs away and doesn't respond to any attempt you make to try and contact her after, she comes back, and suddenly, you're sleeping together and buying couches."

"Mhm," Buck says, the sound coming out in a rush of air, "That sounds like you didn't like her, and you never said a word about that either, so why should I mention the relationship going down in flames. I don't need an I-told-you-so."

"I wouldn't have done that."

"No? You'd already lectured me about dating people we meet on calls, you warned me about it, why wouldn't you?"

"Technically I said 'women you rescued'," Eddie explains, and Buck laughs.

"Right, right, is that how you justify dating Marisol? Someone we met on a call?"

"We didn't rescue her, we rescued her brother, you were there, you should remember that," Eddie says.

"And we didn't rescue Natalia either, Marie was the one we were called for." Buck tilted his head. "You were there, you should remember that." Eddie gives him a look at that before he rolls his eyes. Buck waves away Eddie's expression and his own words. "It doesn't matter anyway. My relationship with Natalia didn't go down in flames because of how we met."

"At least you don't have to worry about that with Tommy, right? I mean, you still met him through work, but...." There's no real fight in Eddie's words, and he shrugs when he trails off like none of it is a big deal, and that just gets under Buck's skin again, igniting something that had been simmering, someone that could have burned hotter in a different way. If only.... Buck grits his teeth as he shakes his head.

"Are you mad that I have a friend or are you mad that we're fucking?" Buck's statement is sharp, and Eddie blinks at him, like this was brand new information, like he didn't know or didn't suspect or didn't expect Buck to lash out with that information, like he is better off not knowing. Any of those possibilities make Buck snort with laughter. "Don't act like you didn't know. Why should I keep it in my pants when I'm otherwise single, Eddie?" He shrugs. "At least my fuckbuddy isn't someone I met at the hardware store."

"You know nothing about how Marisol and I-...."

"I know enough, Eddie!" The force in Buck's voice startles them both, and he shakes his head. "You were searching for magic, like with Shannon, where you lost contact and then met up again, and suddenly you find Marisol in the glue aisle at The Home Depot, like, it's not hard to see what's happening." Buck snorted. "And you want to lecture me about my love life. At least I know I cling. I don't even know what you're doing." He does though, he can probably even put a name to it, but doing that would crack open his own chest and everything would come tumbling out.

"Why are we even fighting about this? There's nothing to be fighting about." Eddie's right. It's a stupid fight, but for some reason, that stings, and it makes Buck flinch back from it, that sudden hit of pain in his chest, but they were doing this, Buck can't back down now.

"You're right. There's nothing to fight about. You've got your happy wife, happy life to go home to in the morning, and I've got a date with my friend, and we'll probably fuck against the wall in the loft after, in case you were wondering," Buck replies, and he glances at the door. He needs to go, not because he's running late, they aren't meeting until 9, but he also doesn't want to have this conversation with Eddie, well, ever, but definitely not in the firehouse.

"I wasn't wondering, but thank you for that word picture, Buck."

"Payback," Buck says, turning his gaze back to Eddie, and he watches as his eyes narrow in confusion. He sighs. "First time you slept with Marisol, you gave me a fully detailed description of every sound she made as she came, twice, and I couldn't get out of that conversation fast enough." Hell, he'd still been with Natalia at that point, but everything felt like it had stopped then shattered. That probably should have been the first sign that things were going south in his own love life. He should not have felt despondent that his best friend had a girlfriend that he enjoyed being with. And yet.

"Do you want me to bring up everything you told me about Natalia? Or Taylor?" Once again, there's no heat, no force in Eddie's voice, it sounds like a hit back just because Buck had said something he probably shouldn't have. Buck makes a tired sound, suddenly needing a nap or a drink or to leave as fast as he could, and he rubs his fingers over his eyes. He hears Eddie exhale, before he says, "Maybe I shouldn't have...," he trails off and doesn't finish.

"Why wouldn't you? We're friends. It's what friends do." There's a chill settling into Buck's bones that has nothing to do with the temperature in the firehouse, and he shivers faintly as he pulls his coat tighter. He swallows. "You did it with Shannon, maybe if you actually enjoyed sex with Ana you would have overshared then too, it's not different." Except it was, hearing about either of those women wouldn't have ripped Buck to pieces.

Eddie is silent for a moment. "It feels different, though." Buck looks over at him before letting his eyes slide away. "So what changed?"

It is Buck's turn to be silent, and he swallows hard before he finally manages, "Nothing. Nothing changed." Which is the problem, isn't it? Buck suddenly feels like he's only just realized he is standing on the edge of a cliff, some precipice, teetering on the edge of....something, and he thinks...he thinks once upon a time, Eddie was there with him.

"Buck."

"Maybe something was supposed to change. After the shooting, maybe, the will," and Eddie looks away then, and Buck knows he's right. "Maybe if Taylor hadn't...or Ana...or...." Buck doesn't even know how everything could have changed.

"We were both single for a year after. Something could have...." It's Eddie's turn to sound tired, and his voice is sad, and Buck has the stupid urge to go to him. He clenches his fists to keep himself in place, digging his fingers into his palms, knowing his nails are leaving little half-moon marks.

"But it didn't," Buck replies.

"No," Eddie breathes, and he wipes his fingers over his forehead, wiping away the sweat that had to be cooling now that his workout had stopped. "I was terrified I was going to die alone, and you met Natalia." Buck shakes his head at that. "I didn't think that...that...." Eddie laughs again, but the sound actually makes Buck nauseous. "I didn't know you were, that men were, that I could even be...that we could...." Buck waits for him to continue, but when he doesn't, when he leaves everything unsaid just hanging in the air, Buck exhales.

"If you had said something...In the cemetery, if you had said something," Buck begins as he rises to his feet, shouldering his duffle, knowing he's running, and he doesn't finish that thought. Finishing that thought is a point of no return.

And Eddie has a girlfriend who takes his son to the zoo and the museum and fills that part of Eddie's life that had been Buck's.

And Buck has a...whatever Tommy is, a distraction that keeps his mind in the present and not on what-ifs, who still goes out drinking with the team, and fills that part of Buck's life that had been Eddie's.

Eddie takes a breath, not exhaling at first until all the air rushes out before he says, "How long was I supposed to wait, Buck? Because I was waiting, I was giving you space, and then you said that wasn't good enough." He stands up then, putting away his workout equipment not looking at Buck, until he glances over his shoulder. "You said I wasn't enough." He turns to face Buck then. "Was I supposed to wait after that?"

Buck closes his eyes, sharking his head. "You were supposed to argue with me." Eddie shakes his head, but Buck continues, "I needed an argument. I needed someone to tell me I was being stupid, but no one did, no one would, everyone, even you, was on eggshells around me. Maybe I would have reacted badly, thrown a fit, or something, but it would have been something. It doesn’t matter, though, does it? I’m still blowing up everything." Buck shrugs again. "Natalia, at least, talked to me."

"And how did that work out?" Eddie replies, and Buck rolls his eyes.

"I hide my true self from others, that was the one things I got from Doctor Copeland," Buck says, and Eddie speaks over him by adding, "Yeah, four years ago," and Buck raises his voice to speak over Eddie, "She left because I wasn't honest with her, no other reason. I hid how bad the calls were because she was happy thinking I was happy." Eddie laughs, then, but the sound is bitter and it makes Buck's skin crawl.

"You two fought over couches, Buck, that had nothing to do with your true self or whatever," Eddie says.

"What do you want me to say, Eds? Yes, it was a bad fit, yes, it was stupid to go shop for furniture when we hadn't even had three completed dates, yes, I clung because she came back and I know I shouldn't have put us both through that," Buck replies as he takes a step forward. "I was in the wrong."

Eddie closes his eyes and rubs his fingers over them before he says, "Have you examined why your girlfriends always leave?" The change in subject makes Buck pause, and Eddie blinks his eyes open at Buck, and for a moment, he just looks sad. "Why you always stay with the ones who run?"

"Well. It's not like I can control what they do." Buck chews on his lower lip as he looks around the room. "And technically. Tommy hasn't left." Eddie flinches at that. Buck can feel himself softening a little at that expression on Eddie's face, and he shakes his head. "Everyone else that I thought would never leave has already replaced me, so."

"Buck, you're no-...."

"No?" Buck lifts his eyebrows, and when he smiles this time, he knows it's not genuine and doesn't come close to reaching his eyes. "Have you taken Marisol to your lawyer yet?" Buck squares his shoulders as he looks at Eddie, who only appears like he's preparing to argue with everything Buck is saying, but Buck beats him to it, "Putting her in your will makes more sense, right? She's not a first responder, she won't be following you into every danger, every fire that could get you killed." Buck feels the sudden sting of tears in his eyes as he blinks, and he sniffs slightly. "She'll make a great mother. That ready-made-family you've always wanted." Eddie reacts at that, jerking back slightly, and Buck thinks he should take that as some kind of victory, but he's just suddenly sadder and colder.

Buck turns to leave, but Eddie stops him with a simple, "Buck," and he half-turns back to Eddie, still blinking back tears as he waits for him to continue. Eddie takes a deep breath before he finally says. "Have fun. With Tommy."

Buck nods. "Tell Chris to have fun at the planetarium tomorrow, Marisol's really going to love it." He heads toward the door then.

There's nothing more to say after all.

#911 fic #buddie fic #divorce 2.0 fic #my fic!#the title of the fic is longer than the actual fic #maybe once the season starts i'll write how they fix it #but now i can return to my stargate bullshit #at least they communicate better #oh wait

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heavencasteel420 · 6 months

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Chapters: 3/? Fandom: Stranger Things (TV 2016) Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Jonathan Byers/Nancy Wheeler Characters: Nancy Wheeler, Jonathan Byers, Steve Harrington, Tommy Hagan, Carol Perkins, Kali Prasad, Lonnie Byers, Karen Wheeler, Billy Hargrove, Maxine "Max" Mayfield, Susan Hargrove Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Nobody Found Out about the Upside Down in S1, except for Joyce (kind of), So Will is believed to be dead and there's no explanation for Barb's disappearance, Suicide Attempt, Suicidal Ideation, Alcohol Abuse, survivor's guilt, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, (Not explicit but it's an ongoing situation), (And not technically a crime in Indiana but in spirit exploitative and wrong in many ways), Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Recreational Drug Use, Generally Bad Mental Health Care, Ableism, Disordered Eating, Minor Steve Harrington/Nancy Wheeler, Minor Billy Hargrove/Nancy Wheeler, Background Jonathan Byers/Female OC, Letters, Misogyny, (canon-typical and/or internalized), Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, (between older teens), body image issues, (fairly low-key), (and mostly experienced by Steve's terrifyingly WASP-y mom bless her) Summary:

A year after the unexplained disappearance of her best friend, Nancy Wheeler is consumed with guilt and bent on quiet self-destruction. Then a strange incident sends her on a new course and inspires her to reach out to a boy she used to sort of know.

#my fic!#jancy #nancy wheeler #jonathan byers #stranger things #tonight tonight the highway's bright

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luninosity · 6 months

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Out now! Just in time for Halloween – and all your m/genderfluid sword-and-sorcery romance needs!

“In the Pass of Ghosts,” the first sequel story to “The Snails of Dun Nas,” is available now from JMS Books – it should stand alone okay if you’ve not read the first one, though you may want to, if you like folklore involving giant snails! Here, in “Ghosts,” Aric and Em have to deal with…well, you can probably guess… *laughs*

Ghosts are real. And now they’re Aric’s problem.

Even legendary swordsmen need time off, and Aric and his half-fairy partner Emrys are traveling south to visit Aric’s brother. But, on a stormy night at a roadside inn, an old friend stumbles in nearly frozen, swearing that the mountain pass is haunted…and deadly.

With travelers and friends in danger, Aric and Em will try to solve the mystery of the murderous hauntings, but that won’t be simple. Swords aren’t much use against specters. Any use of Em’s magic will draw attention from a powerful fairy king.

And this quest is making Aric think about his past, his future, and settling down in one spot with Em, someday…if Emrys wants that future, too.

Buy at Amazon here, or at JMS Books here!

#romance #lgbtq #sword and sorcery #k.l. noone #jms books #my fic!#yay!

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notthehardtyres · 1 year

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“All right, thank you, everyone. This meeting of the Grand Prix Drivers’ Association is now in session. We have a few items on the agenda for today, which I promise we will get to, but as the first order of business, I would like to propose an inquiry into a situation in which many of us have found ourselves, quite inexplicably. I’m aware that in past seasons, established procedure has been to simply—er, handle the problem as quickly as possible—”

There’s a low snicker from somewhere in the back of the room. George ignores it. “But I believe it’s time we took a more proactive, analytical approach to this, ah, phenomenon.”

More giggles. “What phenomenon would that be, Director?”

George rolls his eyes. “The phenomenon wherein I woke up with tits this morning, thank you for asking, Kevin. And this just proves my point, we don’t even have a word for this. How are we meant to find a solution if we aren’t even willing to examine it—”

“Oh, mate, I don’t think a lack of examination is the problem—”

“—to examine it critically,” George continues, crossing his arms awkwardly over the added mass beneath his shirt, “find out why it happens, and how to most effectively prevent it.”

“On Twitter they call it, like, ‘Rule 69’—” Lando says before he’s interrupted by several howls of laughter.

“Rule 63, you absolute plank,” Alex groans into his hands, doubled over in his chair. “69’s the—”

“—the—I know what it is—” Lando wheezes, bright red. “That’s why I thought—ugh, never mind."

“Gentlemen, if I could ask you to behave like adults for five minutes, please.” George has a vivid flashback to secondary school and begging his group to focus on researching for a presentation instead of looking up paintings of naked women in their art history textbook.

“I have a question,” Valtteri announces, raising his hand irreverently. “We know how to fix the problem, so what is the big problem, after all?”

“Okay, yes, while we know… one solution,” George sighs, “not everyone wants to—to go through the—the trouble, or the potential embarrassment, or—and I’m not saying that I have a—a problem with it, I—” all right, even he knows when he’s losing control of a crowd, can feel his face going red-hot under the stares of twenty-some men with, evidently, a lot more sexual confidence than he’s ever had. “Right. Okay. Well, what if it happens when you’ve got a 6am presser? Or an early flight to the United States, and they put you through the full-body scanners?”

Esteban and Pierre exchange alarmed glances, and even Valtteri seems to consider the argument a little more seriously than before. “I’ll be reaching out to some of you after this meeting,” George concludes resignedly, “for your assistance, along with the medical teams. Moving on—”

“Uh, wait a second,” Logan Sargeant stammers, straightening up very suddenly. “This is—this is serious?”

“Oh, mate,” Alex mutters, putting a hand to his forehead. “Just… come with George and me for lunch and we’ll explain.”

#is this extremely silly? yes. am i leaning into it anyway? also yes.#formula 1 rpf #gr63 #rule 63 #my fic!

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