I… MAY BE NEGLECTING HALF A DOZEN WIPS AND WORKING ON A MUSKETEERS FIC RIGHT NOW… MAYBE………
i actually have already written a rly short fic here, but since that did absolutely nothing to break this fever it’s a pretty safe bet i’ll be writing more
in the meantime here are some musketeers fic recs!!! godspeed
p.s. if this is because of the tags in my prev post someone already wrote that fic and it’s perfect(ly depressing) ENJOY
fandom: dragon age ii
pairing: fenris / male hawke
After Kirkwall, Fenris and Hawke visit Lothering.
fandom: dragon age ii
pairing: fenris / male hawke
This is the truth: Hawke has too much power over him and he’s scared of running from one master to the next.
And this is the sad, pathetic truth: Fenris is too broken to know how to be what Hawke deserves.
I’ve been unbelievably lucky this year and got FOUR (!!!) amazing fics for Yuletide! They are all INCREDIBLE and I can’t rec them enough. Please give them some love :D
Perfectly Fine (Nothing to Worry About)
Fandom: The Losers (2010)
Summary: In the aftermath of that Incident, no one on the team’s coping too well. Except Roque, who seems to be the only one holding things together. Jensen’s got a theory on that. He’d tell Cougar, but Cougar ain’t talking right now… and Jensen’s fine. Really. He’s… fine.
Take the Sun
Fandom: Orphan Black (TV)
Summary: In another lifetime, falling in love with Delphine would be easy.
Fandom: Almost Human
Summary: Dorian claims he hasn’t gone rogue, but what else could all these flowers mean? In which John is concerned, Dorian is exasperated, and there will be no more talk of feelings.
Fandom: Almost Human
Summary: Dorian watches John sleep.
Thank you again to my wonderful mystery authors! ♥
how about…. janeway/seven, handcuffed together? 8D
"Is this often the result of your attempts at… diplomacy?"
It was the pause, Kathryn thought, that made her blood pressure steadily rise. It was the inflection. It was something, and damned if she knew how someone who’d spent her life speaking in the monotone of the Borg had stumbled so easily onto irony, sarcasm and disdain.
Seven, it appeared, had a natural talent.
They were currently sitting on the floor of what the i’iAa (species 4388, of little interest) had called the ‘Chamber of the Judged.’ They were also bound together, each having one of their wrists in a wraparound biosynthetic linking device that resembled old Earth handcuffs. It also happened that Lieutenant Nicoletti and Crewman Evis, similarly bound, were out of sight in an identical chamber to their left. None of these things, shockingly, was a balm for Kathryn’s mood.
"Less often than you seem to be implying," she managed, only grumbling a little. "More often than I’d hope."
Seven merely quirked an eyebrow at her, but Kathryn ignored it.
"I just don’t understand which of their rules we broke," she went on instead. "We brought an all-female landing party, no tricorders, dressed like this," Kathryn waved a hand to indicate the long, light, robe-like dresses that had been replicated directly from a pattern the i’iAa provided to Voyager. "I hadn’t even gotten a chance to send my first report back to Chakotay, so I don’t see how— sorry," she said, lowering their joined wrists from where she’d just yanked Seven’s arm into the air. "I tend to talk with my hands."
"So I’ve noticed," said Seven, and despite her desert-dry tone Kathryn could have sworn she saw just a hint of amusement — warmth, even — lurking in her eyes. And if Kathryn looked away, averted her gaze to the obnoxiously beige chamber floor for a moment, well, it was really no one’s business.
"Any ideas, Seven?" she asked after only the slightest of pauses.
"Intimidation," Seven replied with no hesitation at all. "They are a petty, unsophisticated species, likely to bend under pressure. If Voyager presents an ultimatum to their leaders, the i’iAa are sure to surrender."
"Well, I appreciate the insight," Kathryn told her when she was sure she could speak without smiling. "But I admit, I was hoping for something that won’t drag us into yet another conflict."
"Perhaps groveling, then," Seven said, flatly unimpressed.
Kathryn threw up her hands and didn’t bother to apologize when Seven’s arm was jerked along.
- his stupidly broad shoulders (seriously, jim knows the guy is no slouch, but the fact that bones can spend half as much time at the gym as he does and still look like that is either a cruel galactic joke or the best thing that’s ever happened.)
- the way his accent slips when he’s buzzed or relaxed or both (actually that’s not strictly true - what jim really loves is helping bones get to that point, where the furrow in his brow melts away and he doesn’t really care if he’s drawling ‘cause he’s too busy curling his mouth in a smile.)
- how much he loves his job (yeah, okay, bones will be bones and a bones will bitch about e v e r y t h i n g but as much as he complains about the reckless idiots that come across his biobed every day, jim has never met a guy so utterly enthralled and devoted to his work as bones. and he gets it, you know - leonard mccoy is to medicine as jim kirk is to space. he’s just glad that, somehow, the two have managed to match up.)
- his hands (jim kirk generally hesitates to objectify anyone who isn’t jim kirk, but goddamn, he could watch bones twirl a hypo between his fingers for hours on end. of course, that scenario would probably end with said hypo being jammed into jim’s neck at some point. as it should be.)
- how he knows when to shut up (let’s be clear - jim loves it when bones doesn’t shut up, considers a steady stream of cursing and complaining to be the backing track to his whole life these days, but somehow bones has always known when it’s enough to pass a flask into his hand and let him be, would be there and ready for whenever it feels right to talk again. he doesn’t even know if he’d be able to return such comfort. but he’d try, for bones, he really would.)
- what jim loves best about bones, though, is that he stays. (still. despite everything. because of everything.)
Happy (belated) birthday, radiophile <3
In their haphazardly joined skull-space Newt draws a breath and Hermann excises it, pushing it out with a violence that Newt tracks carefully; the precision converts him, however briefly, into a spirometer. You and me and the squalling infant makes three, the barely-born with thoughts that glisten like viscera but stab like shatter-shards — glass, shrapnel, who cares. Newt feels more or less Frankenstein’s monster, the seams of this latest connection stitched with reckless abandon into the holes the last try left, and every nerve ending he’s got is sobbing a fucking exhausting song. Somebody’s childhood is screaming his name. Somebody’s future is writing his obituary. You are not a spirometer, somebody’s thinking, and it’s almost definitely not the kaiju baby; about that, at least, Newt is pretty fucking sure.
It’s weird, drifting, The Drift with its capital letters, the brain with all its hairpin turns. After, Newt’ll remember pieces of lives that were never his, will tremble himself awake and asleep riding the crest of borrowed doubts, losses. With five, god, with fucking ten seconds to process, this whole thing’ll be a different story, and he won’t remember this piece of it, this part that’s happening right now. He’s three people — he’s two people and one not-person — he’s tracking the way he keeps pulling in air and Hermann keeps shoving it out again, keeps batting it away, because everything else is so goddamn loud.
I’m not going to fucking hold my breath for you, Newt wants to say, and the funny thing is that he’s been wanting to say that for years but he’s never meant it literally before, never meant, Would you stop fucking doing that, stop shutting it out, we need that, dude, we need it to live.
Except that he has meant that, and he’s meant it every time. Somebody’s stomach is turning against them. Somebody’s glands are learning to secrete their momma’s poisons.