#serenwrites

[serenpedac]

For that 'seeking physical affection' post, I would love to see how you think the members of Unit Bravo would do this with one another!

I’ve been thinking of this ask ever since getting it! Thank you so much, this was great fun!

A note: these are all written from the perspective of the person offering the physical affection, because I figured they would be able to more clearly observe what the other is doing. (The only exception is the one for Farah, because, well, you’ll see ^^) The downside is that it doesn’t show what the person needing the affection feels, but I hope the effect still comes across.

Also, this got kind of long, no obligation to read it all!

Words: ~1900 Rating: Teen and up Relationship: All of UB, the friendship edition Warnings: None

Ava and Nat

The hallway echoes with the sound of a training dummy being pummelled. Nat winces at a crack. The silence that follows it is broken again by the time she reaches the training room. On the other side of it is Ava, the muscles in her arms and shoulders working as she hits the dummy again and again.

Hands shoved into her pockets, Nat leans against the doorway. Ava has noticed her, of that she is certain, and will acknowledge her presence in time.

Two, three more strikes pass before Ava turns to her, panting. Her face is flushed and several strands of hair have escaped her ponytail, a detail that would make her look soft it it weren’t for her eyebrows knitted together. Undeterred by the expression, Nat crosses the training room, the floor giving ever so slightly underneath her feet.  

“I could hear you all the way from my room.”

Ava’s gaze flickers to the arm of the training dummy that is dangling at its side, and back to Nat, crossing her arms before her chest as if daring Nat to say anything about the crippled object. Nat leans back on her heels instead, raising an eyebrow at Ava’s knuckles which are chafed raw and red.  

When Ava realises what she’s looking at, her frown smoothes out. Wordlessly, she gets the plain white wrap from where it’s stored and hands the rolls over.

Just as quietly, Nat slips the loop around Ava’s thumb and begins wrapping. Around and under, between the thumb and forefinger and over the knuckles, covering skin that has already started to heal. With each wrapping, Ava’s breathing becomes steadier, her heartbeat slowing down.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Nat says as she pulls the fabric between each of Ava’s fingers.

With all her years of experience, Ava must know it to be true. They had been given insufficient information, not enough time to prepare. Despite that, the hand Nat is holding twitches.

“Still,” Ava murmurs before letting out a sigh.

With a final tug, Nat fastens the velcro at the end. She gives a light squeeze, brushing the unwrapped skin of Ava’s fingers before letting go.

Ava wiggles her fingers, but doesn’t otherwise move out of the bubble of their mingled breaths and shared body heat. “Thank you.”

There’s a softness in those jade stone eyes, a vulnerability that only a rare few ever get to see. Nat counts herself lucky to number among those few.

“Always, old friend.”

*~*~*~*~*

Mason and Felix

“Again?!”

Felix’s head shoots up from putting on his socks to find Mason holding one of his purple hoodies. His very favourite hoodie, in fact. 

“Awesome timing, I just needed that one.” He jumps up to walk over in time with the beat of the music to take it from Mason’s outstretched hand. He pulls it over his head. His grin when he emerges is answered with a scowl. “Someone got out of bed with the wrong leg.” That’s not quite it, is it? Was it foot? Nope, that doesn’t sound right either. He shakes his head.

Mason, meanwhile, is still standing there, glaring at him. Definitely not in a good mood, but there’s more to it than that. He would have left otherwise.

“Did you already have breakfast?” 

Mason shrugs. That’s a no, then. Meaning he’s waiting for the rest of them so they can have it together or he’s trying to avoid the boost fresh blood will give to his senses. Considering his mood, Felix is more than willing to bet it’s not the former. So, that leaves the only other option: a night—or nights—filled with nightmares that have left Mason on edge. 

“Want to hang out here?” Felix asks as he turns off the music on his phone.

There’s another shrug, this one meaning yes—really, Felix is becoming a master at interpreting them.

“I’ll be right back.” Felix dashes out of his bedroom and, setting a new record, is back before Mason has wandered off.

Pushing a straw through the plastic bag, he sits down at his desk, debating what to do. There are a thousand things he could talk about, but that would be the last thing Mason, leaning against the wall with his shoulders drawn up and arms crossed, needs right now. No, he needs it to be quiet, but not so boring that he will notice the way those nightmares left his body stressed and frazzled.

After drinking the last drops of blood, Felix tosses the package into the bin, and takes out some paper and his drawing supplies. Crayons, because they don’t scratch as harshly as pencils do, and because they smell waxy smooth, much like the lines they draw across the paper.

While he is gathered his stuff, Mason went over to the beanbag in the corner to slump down on it. 

As Felix continues to blend layers of colour together, the atmosphere of the room changes, he can tell. His short strokes from the start turn into longer, slower ones, the crayons gliding across the paper. When he next looks over at Mason, he is lying with his head tilted back against the wall, his eyes closed. His chest is slowly rising and falling. Not asleep, but close to it.

The sight makes Felix smile, a soft glow blooming in his chest. And if the drawing takes a little—a lot—longer than it really should, well, Mason doesn’t know anything about art anyway.

*~*~*~*~*

Nate and Adam

“Would you mind if I joined you?” Nate’s low voice pulls Adam out of his research. 

The muscles in Adam’s shoulders tighten at the note of tension in his voice. After the brightness of the screen, it takes his eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness and discern the tightness drawn across Nate’s face. The attempted smile as he draws near lacks his usual warmth, but it is enough to make Adam lean back in his chair and nod at the seat beside him. “Not at all.” 

It is when he leans over to turn on the light beside the desk that he notices it: a thickness to the air, the build-up of charge in inevitable anticipation.

A storm is coming.

Nate sits down and places the book he had brought on the desk. It’s one of the older books, hints of vanilla filling the air. Adam catches golden lettering on the cover when he turns on the desk lamp, though he doesn’t manage to read the title before Nate opens it.

There have been many storms they endured together, but it hasn’t always been like this. Those early years had been worse, Nate often locking himself away, and by the time he would finally open the door, his eyes would be shot through with red, his entire body hunched in on himself. Though there is little he can do, it is better to endure nights like these together, Adam thinks, and he is grateful Nate has come to that same conclusion.

The first raindrops patter against the window, followed by a gust of wind wailing around the warehouse walls. A shudder runs through Nate, the echo reverberating through the spot where Adam’s shoulder is touching his. He shifts his seat closer, until he can easily let his knee rest against Nate’s.

Shoulder-to-shoulder and leg-to-leg, they sit together, Nate’s eyes trained on the yellowed pages of his book, while the screen before Adam is filled with starker black on white. Nate does not read, the rhythm with which he turns the pages too irregular for that. Likewise, the research Adam had been working on progresses little. Not that he is worried, but it would be remiss of him not to pay attention to how a member of his team and his oldest friend is feeling.

As the storm howls outside, Nathaniel leans more of his weight against him, or maybe he is the one who has moved closer. The warmth of skin seeps through layers of clothes, their arms now pressed together tight enough for Adam to feel the tightening of muscles when lightning strikes some spot nearby, the air crackling and sharp with ozone.

Nate lets out a short breath and Adam nudges his shoulder. It’s alright, my friend.

Mercifully, the storm passes fast.

The book is closed with a dull thud, but before Nate can rise, Adam puts his hand on his shoulder. 

“Do get some sleep.”

The corners of Nate’s mouth curve with a glimmer of a smile, and he casts a conspicuous look at the laptop screen. “I would say something about a pot and a kettle, if I though it would be of any use.”

A huff escapes him, more out of amusement and relief, than annoyance. “I am almost done. Besides, I hardly need the sleep.”

“But you need the rest.” Nate places his own hand on his, the inside of his palm slightly sticky with sweat, and says, softer, “Please, let me help tomorrow.” After a brief moment, Adam nods. As if he had been waiting for that signal, Nate rises then and offers him a smile, one that is small but true. “Good night, Adam.”

*~*~*~*~*

Farah and all of UB

“Did you all miss me?” The last part of Farah’s question is muffled against Nate’s shoulder as she hugs him tight. He smells nice, the scent of his favourite soap hanging around him, together with that of the leather of his jacket, but this close, he mostly smells of himself.

Without hesitation, he returns her hug, long arms wrapping around her. “We certainly did.”

“Knew it!” With that, she’s off to the next person: Morgan, who is standing with her arms crossed as if that would keep Farah from hugging her. Pffft, as if!

Moving slower and squeezing not quite as much, Farah puts her arms around her.

“I sure as hell did not miss getting my ears blasted out,” Morgan grumbles, letting her arms drop to her sides to relax within Farah’s hold. That counts as a win, for sure.

It leaves only one other person: Adam. He looks about as excited as Morgan at the prospect of a hug. 

“You really could do with showing some more enthusiasm.” Farah pauses to give him a once-over. “Think about morale, team spirit. Look at Nate, for example. He made me feel like you missed me and were happy that I’m back.”

Nate gives her a warm smile, proving her point, while Adam frowns, proving her point even more.

“Of course I am glad that you are back. You’re an integral part of our team.”

Farah purses her lips, considering. “You mean that without me, you would be hopelessly lost and all would fall apart?” She claps her hands together. “I’ll take that.” 

She encloses him in a hug before he can do something like asking her for a debrief of the mission or, even worse, remember the supply of blood bags she forgot to put in the fridge last time she was at the warehouse. It only takes about a second for Adam to hug her back. He’s a good hugger, if he wants to be, holding her firm but never too tight.

When he lets go, she just manages to catch the dimples in his cheeks before his Commanding Agent mask slips back into place. He really is happy that she’s back. Farah knew that, of course, but it’s still nice to have it confirmed like this.

She looks around at her three teammates—friends—and smiles wide and bright. It’s good to be back home.

*~*~*~*~*

End notes

The one for Mason and Felix is a very broad interpretation of the prompt. It’s not that I think M would never seek out physical affection, but.. Okay, this is where my thoughts get a bit incoherent, but I was thinking about how M turns to sex (and cigarettes) as a way of overstimulating their senses so that the smaller things are drowned out. This is however not them wanting affection. It made me wonder: is there a different, more subtle way they would go for when they are searching for this?

With how strong their senses are, I figured that merely being close to someone, for example being in the same room, would already have a physical affect on them. So, that’s what I was going for here.

Also, I don't think they would be aware they're looking for affection, so it's a good thing F is this sensitive to other people's emotions!

#serenwrites #the wayhaven chronicles #these are a bit rough but eh #you get my badly-translated-to-english expressions haha #no but i really though getting out of bed with the wrong leg was also used in english #turns out it isn't? #getting out of bed on the wrong side doesn't quite have the same ring to it #so now it's F mixing echolian and english

[serenpedac]

written by your hand

I was talking with Bunny and another dear friend about N’s handwriting and this idea just wouldn’t get out of my mind, so here we are.

Words: ~700 Rating: Gen Relationship: Adam & Nate Warnings: None

The readiness with which he offered to write the letter of introduction suggested he even took pleasure in the activity and indeed, it takes little effort to imagine Nathaniel sitting at a mahogany desk, engrossed in a missive to some distant friend  or family member, his writing utensils arranged neatly before him—unlike the current mess. 

The candle has burned down to a sputtering stump. Its irregular light glints off the inkwell, but does little to illuminate the person at the desk. He is sitting in the exact same position Adam left him hours before, head bent, lips pressed together, quill gripped tightly in too-long fingers. The only difference are the papers that now litter the desk, some having fallen down to the ground. A waste of valuable material.

He doesn’t tell his companion this.

“Resting between practice is still a crucial component in acquiring a new skill,” he says instead, followed by a wry grin and, “Even for us.”

His companion’s head whips towards him and the candle sputters out, leaving Nathaniel’s eyes as dark as the ink blotting the paper.

“It’s hardly a new skill,” Nathaniel says, stubbornly. “Of all things, this should be—” 

He doesn’t need to finish the muttered sentence for Adam to know what he meant. Easy. Once learned, writing does not seem like something that can be forgotten. The readiness with which he offered to write the letter of introduction suggested he even took pleasure in the activity and indeed, it takes little effort to imagine Nathaniel sitting at a mahogany desk, engrossed in a missive to some distant friend  or family member, his writing utensils arranged neatly before him—unlike the current mess. 

Nathaniel blinks at the extinguished candle as if only noticing it now, before finally putting down his quill and straightening his back, wincing as he does. When he unfolds himself from his seat, Adam is struck once more by the gracefulness of those long limbs. He has seen it before, when they ran in the nearby forest, the slight awkwardness that clung to his movements falling away as Nathaniel focused on their prey, forgetting himself in that moment. He also recalls the exhilaration on his face afterwards. It had been the first time he had seen a glimpse of sheer joy from Nathaniel, a reveling in what his body was capable of.

“Did you use to hunt?” Adam had asked. The Agency had briefed Adam about his new companion, but it had been only the bare essentials. Nothing more was needed, Adam would have agreed, yet he has been finding himself curious to learn more.

Those brown eyes had dulled quickly. “I did not.” Nathaniel had looked at his hands, stretching his fingers and observing them as if they were not entirely his. “I was not deemed… hale enough for such pursuits.”

That had been the end of the conversation.

Adam wonders if Nathaniel regrets his newfound speed and strength, when it means his body no longer remembers those precise movements that used to come with such ease. Yet another thing that is lost in this new life.

He exhales and starts helping Nathaniel tidy the clutter. Such thoughts are pointless. There is no going back to before and his companion must know that, despite the way he keeps trying to eat human food and drink tea.

“You will relearn with time and practice.”

A moment’s silence follows.

“And rest?” 

Adam can almost hear the smile in Nathaniel’s voice. He takes care to keep his expression neutral when he hands Nathaniel the gathered papers. “And rest.”

*~*~*

Years later, Adam browses the small private library Nathaniel—Nate, as he now prefers—has put together in search of a tome on one topic or another when a thick, leatherbound book draws his eye. He takes it on the off-chance that it contains the information he is looking for.

Unfamiliar handwriting marks the inside of the cover and he would have gone straight to the table of contents, if it hadn’t been for some part of him catching the words written there.

Treasured property of: Nathaniel H. Sewell

The flourishing cursive is nothing like the elegant, yet simple handwriting he has come to know so well over the years.

“Time and practice,” he mumbles to himself as he puts the book back on its shelf.

For the first time, he thinks that the stubborn insistence with which Nate tries to hold on to all things human may be proof that his friend knows all too well that they have irrevocably changed.

*~*~*

Some notes

Although the concept of muscle memory became an area of study only int he early 1900s, Aristotle already mentioned the idea that memory depends on our bodies. Ever since reading Bunny’s beautiful description of how Nate may have struggled to adjust to his new body in The Ember Days fic, I’ve been a little obsessed with the idea of how having their body changed might affect vampires in Wayhaven.

There’s this ask where Mishka gave an impression of what UB’s handwriting/signatures would look like here, but I also love this take by @/l-xcixxs on their signatures (just look at the ones for F!). My own impression leans a little more towards the latter for N, simply because I think they would keep writing in cursive, just not quite as elaborate as before.

And a final note, some of my ideas of N changing their handwriting come from a friend in high school, who had the most gorgeous cursive handwriting I’ve ever seen, although it was quite hard to read and making notes took him a lot of time haha. He’d taught himself as a teenager to write like that, instead of in the standard cursive he’d learned at school years before. The effort it must have taken him to relearn something like this really impressed me!

I was lying, there's another note, but it's rather unformed: one thing that gets me about N and writing is how tied to their hands it is. Their hands, that they hide so often in their pockets, but use here to put words, maybe even their most intimate thoughts onto paper.

#the wayhaven chronicles #serenwrites #this is going on here because i feel *complicated* about posting such a short work on ao3 by itself #also because it's not edited #so please forgive any spelling/grammar issues or weird sentences

[serenpedac]

Tales of Fate and Fortune

Words: ~4000 Rating: Mature Relationship: Female OC/Nate Sewell Warnings: Mildly spicy (very mild tbh)

It becomes a ritual: a smiled greeting to the storeowner, who already starts preparing his tea while Nate wanders between the shelves, sometimes picking up and browsing a volume or two on his way, but always ending up at his book. Or not really his book, is it? Their book, belonging to both him and this mysterious notewriter.

Read on Ao3

He finds the book much like he had found the bookstore: tucked away in a secluded spot, nearly going unnoticed, yet drawing him in as soon as he lays eyes on it. It’s a small volume, unassuming and well-worn. Nothing special.

(“Why did you pick it up?” she will ask someday. To which he will reply, “Fate.” She will scoff at that and roll her eyes, a smile dimpling her cheek.)

All of that will happen later, though, much later, and he is not one to skip ahead. Oh, no, he prefers to take his time, to let the story unfold itself word after word and let the tension build. So in the present, Nate takes the book from where it is squeezed in between two larger ones and brings it with him to the reading nook at the back of the store.

Copper-coloured reading lamps soak the mish-mash of armchairs in their warm light. A few small tables stand between them, each with books stacked on top.

Nate settles on a chair closest to the tall windows. They do little to let in light, the sun being hidden behind the clouds, but together with the draped curtains, it’s almost like sitting in a cosy living room. A home, of sorts, however temporary it may be. While his unit has become his family, the Agency facilities have never come close to a home. A place like this is exactly what he needs after having travelled from one side of the world to the other and back again for their last mission.

He leans back and starts to read.

Before long, he finds the first note: a faded ballpoint-blue scribble in the margin near the end of the prologue.

That’s really all she got? Some “wisdom” that sounds like it came from the label on a teabag? At least that would have given her a drink to enjoy.

Nate chuckles. True enough, the message from the fortune teller to the protagonist had been far from original, but those age-old wisdoms often hold some truth. And if it are the same ones that get told over and over, well, isn’t that like just like stories? The same tropes and archetypes woven together into countless different tales. Heroes fighting bravely for their cause and strangers turning to lovers.

Later he will tell himself it was the homely feeling of this place, combined with a bone-deep tiredness, that makes him forget himself and take a pen out of his deep brown leather briefcase—a gift from Adam, who had merely stated it was practical, but Nate knew the effort it must have take his friend to get this exact one, so similar to the one he lost years before.

He sets the tip of the pen to the paper and writes, neatly below the note,

Don’t you think words given in-person hold more weight than those that are mass-printed and impersonal? Certainly more than those on tea of debatable quality.

He jolts at the ding of the old-fashioned shop bell.

“There you are!” Farah’s voice carries all the way to the end of the shop, making Nate wince. “Found him,” she shouts back towards the street.

Through the window, he can just make out the figures of Adam and Morgan.

He quickly closes the book and slips the pen in his bag as if to hide the evidence of his crime. The shopkeeper is nowhere to be seen, although their footsteps sound from behind the thick curtain that must lead to some sort of backroom. He should buy the book, but—

“Are you coming? We’ve been searching for you for ages.” Farah moves her weight from one foot to another, cold wind blowing past her through the still open door.

“One moment.”

Despite the gloominess of the corner and the amount of books, his eye is drawn to the empty spot where the book belongs. Without further debate, he slides it back into place.

“Told you he was going to be in the dustiest place in this city,” Farah is chattering to Morgan and Adam by the time he makes it outside. “We’re in the most exciting place we’ve been in ages and Nate goes to hide between old books.”

Hiding his smile, Nate says, “You do know that many of those ‘old books’ are younger than yourself?”

Farah scoffs. “It’s not about the numbers, Natey, it’s about the vibes.” Looking back at the store, she wrinkles her nose. “And the smell.”

Read the rest on Ao3

#the wayhaven chronicles #serenwrites #decided to put this one up here after all ^^

[serenpedac]

"comparing hand-sizes to hold their hand against the other's and then just holding hands" for Gabi and Farah please :) (no pressure!!!!)

PD!!! Thank you for the ask ^^

When seeing the prompt in the preview notification of this ask, my first thought was that I wanted to write this for Gabi and Farah, if there wouldn't be a pairing specified. And then you mentioned Gabi and Farah! That made me very happy haha! 

Words: ~460 Rating: Teen and up Relationship: Female detective/Farah Hauville Warnings: None

Read on Ao3 or below

“... and then he tried to run, but I saw him sneak away and ran after him and of course I was faster, so I did this move and tackled him and— You should have seen it, it was so cool! But then...” Farah’s hands flutter through the air, flashes of neon pink nail polish catching the sunlight, as she tells about an old mission.

Farah rarely sits still, Gabi has observed, her face changing expressions faster than Gabi can keep track of, her feet tapping a rhythm, her entire body moving as if she’s spilling over with life itself. Most of all, it are her hands that tell a story: the small, fiddling motions of her fingers during a boring meeting, the focused, precise movements when she’s concentrated on a drawing, or the wide gesturing she just stopped doing. 

Wait, she stopped? 

Above the hands that are suspended mid-story and mid-air, golden eyes are staring at Gabi from across the table. The twin buns on top of Farah’s head tip sideways as she tilts her head.

“What are you thinking, Gabes?”

“Nothing, really.”

“Nothing? Really?” Leaning her elbows on the table, Farah balances her chair on the front two legs. “That would be the first time ever you’re not thinking about anything.” 

Gabi pushes her hair away, only for it to fall right back across her forehead. Heat spreads up from her neck to her cheeks at being caught, at being known like this. “Alright, then, I was thinking about you. About your hands, if you want me to be specific.”

Farah holds one of her hands before her, lips pressed together in a pout as she considers it. Her nails are perfect, dazzling pink ovals against her dark skin. “You like this new colour? Morgan said it made her eyes burn.” The bright sound of her laughter fills the kitchen. 

“Did she, now?” It’s all too easy to imagine Morgan responding like that, and Gabi shakes her head with a smile. “I like it, it suits you.” She leans forward on the table to take Farah’s hand, pressing hers against it. The last phalanx of each of her fingers sticks out above Farah’s, her own nails blunt and square, the nail beds shortened because of years of nail biting as a child. They’re a far cry from the elegant and neatly manicured hands of the vampire in front of her.

With a quick twist, Farah turns their hands and raises them to press a kiss against Gabi’s knuckles. “I like your hands too, babe.”

An echo of the touch of her lips lingers, warm and soft and leaving Gabi’s chest aflutter. The warmth turns into something hotter, something glowing and molten, when Farah winks and adds, “You’re very skilled with them.”

#serenwrites #the wayhaven chronicles #farah now calls gabi 'gabes' #that just happened i suppose #my one and only oc with a nickname now has a second nickname haha #but really only rebecca calls her gabriella in my HC #so it feels like gabi is her real name anyway

[serenpedac]

WIP Wednesday

Thank you so much @aztarion and @nat-seal-well for the tag! It was wonderful to get to read your writings <3

I don't have much to share, but formula 1 pre-season testing started today, so have a snippet from my Ava-F1 fic

Unblinkingly, Ava stares after the car until it disappears behind a bend in the road. The sound dies away with it, but another one is following it. No, not one car, but multiple. “It appears to be some kind of race,” Nat offers from beside her. One car overtakes the other at a breakneck pace, fast even to a vampire’s eye. The bold numbers painted on both of them support Nat’s theory. “Foolishness,” Ava mutters. Humans are vulnerable enough as it is, these ridiculous speeds can only end in disaster. Surely even they themselves must see that.  She follows both cars before whipping her head back to where they had come from, but no new vehicles appear while the sound of the last two dies away. It brings back memories of horse races. The rhythm of hooves pounding the earth, the ground flying by below at breathtaking speeds. Adrenaline coursing through her, followed by the heady joy of victory. Laughter as she turned to—

Tagging @evilbunnyking (you mentioned working the last Ember Days chapter? If you want to share, that is), @agentnatesewell (I loved the snippets you shared last week for the OC question!), @nsewell, @crownleys, @serial-chillr, @deepinifhell and anyone reading this who has something to share <3

#serenwrites #the rest of this fic so far are descriptions of the spa-francorchamps region #it's a very pretty area okay xD #the most fun part of this fic has been the research though #looking up photos from old races to get an impression what it was like back then #seeing people sitting in the fields right next to the tracks #with *maybe* some hay bales as a barrier but that's a big maybe

[serenpedac]

WIP WednesThursday

I was tagged by the lovely @nerdferatum for this, thank you (and as always, it's great to see your art!) <3

Since we're in the middle of moving, with most stuff already in our new apartment, but we're still living in our old one for now, I don't have access to the majority of my writing. So here's an unedited snippet from my notes app:

"What did you think about the ending?"

"I... haven't read it yet."

"You didn't finish the book?" Susan shakes her head in disbelief. "I would have thought you had enough time to finish it ten times over."

Nate traces the handle of his teacup. Porcelain, with tiny fractures below the glazing that show its age. "I had to think of an appropriate reply to each and every of your comments, did I not?"

She raises an eyebrow, but doesn't question him. (Yet. She will, one day. She will tell him she doubted he really needed that much time to formulate a reply, honey-tongued as he is, and he will smile at her, admitting that no, he did not. He will whisper into the crook of her neck that he hadn't wanted it to end. That he does not want this to ever end. "Stay with me, rouhi. Please, promise you'll stay with me." She'll laugh, breathlessly. "Is that a proposal, mister Sewell?")

Tagging anyone who sees this amd wants to share something (truly, please tag me if you do!) and also: @evilbunnyking @sealriously-sealrious @lykegenia @nerdierholler @ejunkiet @agentnatesewell @nsewell @wayhavenots

#serenwrites #i'm spoiling the ending of this story but eh #it was either this or a snippet that didn't make any sense out of context #and i quite like this one!

[serenpedac]

WIP Wednesday

It's been a while since I did one of these, so have some Gabi/Farah fluff!

“No, with science. At least, I hope this will work. I haven’t done this since I was a kid and never on seashells and maybe that colouring will mess up the chemistry or—” “Babe.” Farah puts a finger across Gabi’s mouth, stopping her flow of words. “I’m sure you’ll make it work. You’re amazing at sciency stuff.” Farah takes away her finger and Gabi is about to mention how there’s always a possibility of error with experiments like this, but before she can, Farah presses her lips against hers, warm and soft. When she withdraws, Gabi has forgotten all she wanted to say. Her hands on Farah’s waist, she holds her close. “And you’re amazing at, well, at everything really.” Gabi bends down to nuzzle Farah’s neck, hair tickling when she presses a kiss below her ear. Farah gives her a smile that is wide and bright. “I know. What would you ever do without me, right?” There, her smile falters, if only a little.

Tagging anyone who is reading this and has something to share! And also: @evilbunnyking, @sanguineverefae, @sealriously-sealrious, @lykegenia, @wayhavenots, @agentnatesewell, @nsewell, @her-devils-advocate, @lukas-du-mortain, @delucadarling, @sustainably-du-mortain, @nerdierholler, @ejunkiet, @crownleys, @grapecaseschoices

#serenwrites #i'm kind of curious what people think they're up to! #look at me working on fluff instead of spooky things for the prompts sksks #tbh i'm happy to be writing at all

[serenpedac]

Metamorphosis

Words: ~800

Rating: Teen and up

Relationship: Mina/Mason

Warnings: None

On a star-filled and chilly night, Mason finds Mina watching out over the bay near Wayhaven.

Notes

For @lovelyfoolish, because you’re a wonderful person and I wanted to give you a little something. I hope I did Mina and Mason justice <3 

There are many versions of myths surrounding Orion. In this fic, I’m referring to this one.

*~*~*~*~*~

The moonlight glitters on the rippling water of the bay. The onset of a breeze scatters the moving mosaic further, the light breaking, refracting patches of silver against the darkness of the water. 

Mina pushes her hands deeper into her coat pockets at the stinging chill in the air. The wind is stronger here, on top of the cliff that shelters Wayhaven’s bay. She hadn’t noticed how it had picked up, shielded as she had been, first by the houses of the town, then by the narrow patch of forest, as her feet trod the familiar path of one of her old routes. 

There is no real need for her to patrol, not with Unit Bravo stationed here, and not with how quiet things have been as of late. A quietude she should be grateful for—she is, she is—yet she can’t help but feel like it’s little more than a superficial stillness, like the mesmerising surface of the water of the bay hiding the currents below. Too much has happened, too much has changed, for her to trust she can rest now.

She startles at the sound of footsteps on the seashell path and twists around to find Mason several steps away. 

“What the hell are you doing out here?” he asks, closing the remaining distance. His shoulders are tense as if he would fight off the cold. 

She lifts a shoulder in something like a shrug. “This used to be the outermost part of my rounds.” 

It’s not really an answer, and, eyebrows drawn together in a tight frown, he examines her, relaxing a fraction when he finds— She’s not sure what he sees on her face, but it’s enough for him to join her in her silence.

As the moment stretches on, her gaze is drawn to the horizon, where the bay opens up to the ocean. There’s a tug in her chest, a feeling of falling, or maybe of the currents pulling her along out into those unknown depths. 

A glance to her side reveals Mason with his hands pushed into his pockets like a mirror image of her. Unlike her, his gaze is fixed up at the stars speckling the sky. High above the dark water of the ocean, the three stars of Orion’s belt burn a cold blue-white.

How fitting, she thinks, that he would look up to the sky with its near eternal stars, while she would be tied to the deep waters here, earth-bound and mortal.

“Did you know,” she begins, her voice soft, “that according to the legends, Orion was the son of Poseidon, god of the ocean?”

Mason doesn’t turn to her, but his hand skims hers. Once, enough to let her know he’s listening.

“It’s said that he was killed by the hand of his lover, Artemis, while swimming in this very ocean. Her brother had tricked her into doing it out of jealousy. Heartbroken, she placed Orion in the sky to grant him immortality, even if it meant they couldn’t be together anymore.”

“That’s a pretty depressing story, sweetheart.”

It is, isn’t it? She hadn’t meant for it to be. “It’s a story about love,” she says, though what was maybe meant as reassurance is tinged deeply with melancholy. 

Mason scoffs, looks at her. His grey eyes are swirling with— something. It reminds her of how he had looked at her months ago, that look that had drawn a confession from her, her hands shaking as she uttered how she didn’t want to die. He had told her she wouldn’t. He wouldn’t let her die. Is he thinking about those words now?

Moving slowly, he reaches out to push her hair behind her ear, his fingers brushing along the shell of her ear until reaching the small hoop of her earring, where he pulls back. She exhales at the loss of contact.

“It’s a story about some gods and their foolish quarrels.” Pale moonlight and shadows play over his features. Barely visible against those stark contrasts are the freckles dotting his skin, little flecks that soften the sharp lines of his face.

Mina strokes his cheekbone with her thumb, and his eyelids flutter closed for a moment at her touch. Cupping his jaw, she leans in to press her lips against his wind-chilled cheek, feeling the way his mouth curves into a smile. When he wraps his arms around her, she slips her hands underneath his jacket to tangle her fingers into his shirt, the delicately woven fabric soft and warm. 

Mason’s head is tipped down, his hair falling forward to tickle her face as she leans her forehead against his. Breathing in the same air, they stay like that while the stars wheel overhead and the tide of the ocean ebbs and flows.

#please bear with me as i don't write M very often #serenwrites

[serenpedac]

Snippet Sunday

So, this is something I wasn’t planning to write at all, but while reading the ending of Book 3, it struck me that Yael would never tell Nate, calm and collected, that he has to trust her, but was more likely to.. accept he was breaking up with her. My plan was to ignore those thoughts, but then @agentnatesewell asked me about it and here we are (thank you, Mar, you’re wonderful <3). This was written on a whim, so please ignore any mistakes. Book 3 spoilers ahead.

*** *** ***

“I am in love with you, Yael.”

Her heart hammers against her ribcage. These are the words she’s been longing to hear, but all they do is ache. How could they not, when pain shimmers in his eyes and his previous admission still swirls in her mind. ‘I don’t know how this is going to work.’

This isn’t a love confession, this is a goodbye. She gulps for breath as the realisation hits her. 

Nate explains— he says something about losing her, worrying about her.

“But it has worked out so far, right? I’m still— I’m still here, I’m still fine, despite—” Her teeth dig into her bottom lip in anger at how feeble she sounds, and his hand falls from her cheek, strokes her arm briefly, his thumb brushing the inside of her wrist as if to call her out on her lie in that gentle way of his. She’s not fine. But can’t he see that losing him would make it even worse? Her voice pitches higher with desperation when she asks, “Will you trust me? Please?”

I love you, Nate. I love you, I love you, I love you. The words fill her chest, suffocating her, remaining as unspoken as they had been during that picnic. That beautiful, wonderful picnic when she’d thought, when she’d finally allowed herself to believe that maybe this was real, that maybe she hadn’t been dreaming up some fairy tale, but that he was truly a part of her life. A part she couldn’t do without. 

“I do. I trust you with every fibre of my being. But I don’t trust all the people who want to come after you.”

The sight of him—his forehead creased in a frown, his hair curling against his temples, his sweet mouth—everything blurs as tears gather in her eyes. What if he’s right? The Trappers didn’t hesitate to take Vieno, why wouldn’t they take Nate next? And if not them, then someone else who wants to hurt her. 

A first tear rolls down her cheek and Nate reaches out as if to brush it aside, only to withdraw. Taking a step back, he pushes his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans.

Yael’s heart breaks.

She can’t ask this of him. He shouldn’t have to worry about her and he certainly shouldn’t have to risk himself for her.

“I understand,” she whispers. She turns around before he can see her break down completely.

Maybe this was never meant to be after all.

#twc book 3 spoilers #serenwrites #i do not like recycling dialogue from canon like this #might change things if i decide to pursue this further #twc

[serenpedac]

I was going through my Wayhaven folder and found this banner that I made for 'breath that passed from you to me', but never posted. Which is a shame, since I do really like it, so here it is anyway, together with a snippet from the fic under the cut.

The guests trickle out one by one as evening falls, leaving her with a moment of peace. There is still bookkeeping to be done and a dress that needs mending, but for now, she uses the momentary lull to lean on the countertop and close her eyes.

The murmur is interspersed from time to time with quiet laughter or a voice raised to emphasise a particular point. The rich aroma of coffee, warm and deep and slightly bitter, blends with the woodsmoke from the fire. In the background, there are traces of mud and tobacco, hints of the city and its people. It’s familiar but not quite as comforting as it used to be before her father—

A polite ‘ahem’ has her snap her eyes open. From across the bar, Mr Sewell is watching her, all others having left.

She takes a breath to centre herself before letting out a laugh. “You do have a habit of startling me, Mr Sewell.”

He tilts his head, a stray lock of dark hair falling across his cheek as he smiles. “Nathaniel. Nate, if you would?”

Nate. She bites the inside of her cheek to keep from trying how his name would sound, how it would feel, on her lips. “Susan.”

#the wayhaven chronicles #i'm not sure how i feel about posting something from a fic that is.. almost 2 years old by now #but it makes me kind of sad how older fics get buried #in general #but especially this one since it's one i'm quite proud of #serenwrites

[serenpedac]

Hello my beautiful friend! Note sure if you are taking prompts, but if so: "A midnight kiss, the stars in your eyes, my soul in your hand" for Nate and Yael pls! <3 <3

Hi Witch <333 Thank you so much for the prompt, dear friend. What was supposed to be a romantic piece turned a lot more angsty and a little spicier instead haha. Hope you'll like it!

*** *** *** This love

Pairing: Female Detective/Nate Sewell Words: ~1300 Rating: Mature (minors dni) Warnings: None

*** *** ***

The sultry summer air carries the sweet scent of blood. Nate can almost taste it on the back of his tongue as it fills his lungs, rich and intoxicating. Familiar.

Yael.

Fear spikes through his body as his step falters.

She’s hurt.

Where is she?

Wayhaven’s forest is wrapped in shadows and silence, or as silent as it can be. Leaves rustle in the breeze only to fall quiet again, her scent gone before he can determine which direction to take, the air unmoving and heavy with the day’s lingering heat. He inhales once more, deeply, but the rich and enticing smell of her blood that had swept through the air like a siren calling across windswept waves truly is gone.

If he caught her smell, who else might have?

Read the rest on Ao3

#serenwrites #sorry it took me ages to answer #i've been feeling like i've forgotten how to write #but the past days have been so stressful #i don't have the energy to be anxious anymore #so thought this might as well finally get posted

[serenpedac]

WIP Whenever

I was tagged for this by several lovely people, thank you @ejunkiet, @cigarettesandinevitablebetrayal, @evilbunnyking, @cleverblackcat and @topaz-carbuncle <3

This is a very rough draft that may not be going anywhere, but I’ve been a little obsessed with F1 as of late and of course that had to seep into my fic. Here’s some Ava/Laura!

“Have you ever thought about how vampires would make amazing Formula 1 drivers? With how fast your reflexes are and all that.” “There is more to racing than reflexes.” “Well, yes, of course. There’s also the fact that your hypersenses would allow you to feel exactly what the car is doing, whether you can push it a little more or— Wait. Have you ever raced?” Ava presses her lips together, choosing to focus on the sponge in her hands and the dirt marring dark green lacquer. While she is more than grateful for the remote location of the warehouse, the road leading here is not kind to her car. Worse than the dirt sticking to it, however, is the toll the roots and holes take on its suspension. As if sensing her thoughts, the car jolts, and Ava’s head shoots up. Laura shoots her a grin that is far less apologetic than it should be as she adjusts her position in the car, leaning back against the door and stretching her legs across the driver’s seat. “I’m comfortable here. Won’t be leaving until you tell me all about your adventurous past.” She purses her lips. “Or should I say reckless?” “I was not reckless,” Ava says, regretting the words as soon as they leave her mouth and Laura’s grin broadens.

Considering how many people tagged me and how many WIPs I’ve seen come by, it feels like everyone has already been tagged. But if you haven’t and would like to share something, consider yourself tagged and don’t hesitate to tag me! I love reading what people are working on.

#serenwrites #i haven't had much time to think and research things #but spa will play a role #partly because it's the only circuit of which i've actually visited the region #partly because.. well how could it not?

[serenpedac]

Snippet Sunday

The day before, Adam had told them how the vampire—no, baobhan sith—had been one of the first people the fledgling Agency had tried to recruit. “She refused.” He didn’t have to say out loud that he had disagreed with that choice, perhaps even thought it foolish.  Holding up the papers that listed all of Caoimhe’s involvements that the Agency was aware of, Farah said, “Seems to me like she’s been doing just fine on her own. Have you even seen this list? It’s almost as long as Adam’s and that’s only the stuff we know. I bet it would be even longer if it had everything she did.” She grinned at Adam’s glower. “Not saying this is a competition, but—” “It is not,” Nate jumped in, taking the list from Farah’s hands. “Both their efforts have been impressive.” “Some just a little more impressive than others,” Farah said with a gleeful smile, drawing a chuckle from Morgan and another scowl from Adam.

#serenwrites #i was planning to have caoimhe and her group fly under the agency's radar until now #but then my wife told me caoimhe has a reputation (gurps stat) #and now i'm fully leaning into that #it makes for a nice bit of rivalry with adam lol

[serenpedac]

anTiquity Tuesday

The lovely @romirola tagged me to share an older fic and I love this idea a lot. Here’s a tooth-rottingly sweet Gabi/Farah fic!

Rainbows and Daisies

Pairing: Female Detective/Farah Hauville Words: ~900 Rating: Gen Warnings: None

*** *** *** ***

They settle on a patch of grass shaded by several trees. The daisies around them match those on Farah’s overall shorts (“Shortalls,” Farah had explained that morning while pulling up her striped socks) and grass tickles Gabi’s ankles.

Read the full fic on Ao3

Tagging anyone who wants to share an older work (it doesn’t have to be Tuesday ;) but please do tag me, I’d love to read your writing) and also (no pressure, of course):

@cleverblackcat, @agentnatesewell, @evilbunnyking, @lykegenia, @chargeortega, @narrativefoiltrope, @queerbrujas, @thee-morrigan, @amlovelies, @chroniclesinlacuna, @nerdierholler, @ava-du-mortain

#twc #serenwrites #it's still tuesday somewhere in the world #on baker island to be specific #yes this is me hoping to get lots of stuff to (re)read in this final week before B3 releases

[serenpedac]

I repeat you

He would think back on that night later. On the moonlight spilling over her, her pale face framed by the soft shadow of her hair. He would remember how she had mapped his face, first with caresses, then with feather-light kisses; memorising it, as he had memorised hers.

The moment, that night had come to an end just like any other, but there was beauty in that, Nate thought. Beauty in the passage of time, in those moments, fleeting and evanescent.

She would have agreed.

Tears ran in hot trails across his skin, while above, stars wheeled through the sky like they had for centuries and would for centuries to come.

Read the full fic here

It's mostly sweet and romantic, I promise

#the wayhaven chronicles #serenwrites #reading all your thoughts about n and the detective #about love and (im)mortality #made me feel some kind of way #so have this ending snippet of a fic that is very close to my heart

[serenpedac]

WIP Whenever

I was tagged by the lovely @evilbunnyking to share a snippet from a WIP. As could have been expected, I’ve been writing Yael and Nate. The pet name, together with getting to choose what your detective calls N in return, gave me some ideas about this thing I’ve been wanting to explore for Yael. Book 3 spoiler ahead

*** *** ***

His hand slipped underneath her sleepshirt, Nate traces slow, winding patterns on her back. Up her spine and back down, long lines and gentle curves, his warmth seeping into her skin like he’s inscribing her with a script that can’t be read, only felt. With a pleased hum, Yael snuggles closer. 

“It’s time to wake up, ya rouhi,” Nate whispers against the top of her head. 

Again she hums, though this time it’s more of a protest. She squeezes her eyes shut against the sunlight peaking through a gap between the curtains, turning her face into Nate’s shoulder. 

He laughs low in response, sounding far too awake for this hour. She would tell him not everyone is a vampire, some people need their sleep, but the truth is that without him, she would have stayed up even longer the night before. He… has his ways of convincing her to come to bed.

Tagging (but no pressure!): @cleverblackcat, @sanguineverefae (you said something about a Gwen/Adam playthrough fic?), @not-sewell (the Mona/Nate fic you mentioned writing reminded me a little of this. There’s something about speaking each other’s language, isn’t there?), @vryptidart, @ejunkiet, @lykegenia, @magesmiths, @narrativefoiltrope, @queerbrujas and anyone reading this who has something to share <3 Hope you’re all having a lovely weekend!

#twc book 3 spoilers #serenwrites #will i ever get tired of writing soft and sweet snippets for them? #probably not #though this one is about to take a bit of a turn