#clumsy stuff

It’ll stay here, inactively, as long as tumblr will let it - I won’t be deleting anything, I just won’t be posting here anymore.

I promised I’d post this like 2 weeks ago, and I finally done did it! just had to muster the courage to edit it first, u know ❤

please reblog if u fancy!

Arthur Morgan/Charles Smith - Rated E for everyone - M/M - 1233 words

Arthur Morgan is an avid amateur photographer. With his camera, ever at his side, he captures sunsets, landscapes, and the occasional dangerous animal… or so Charles thinks.

Beside the dust and dirt, a little, old suitcase lies pushed up against the wall. Is this too far? Am I peering too close? Probably. Probably.

As I’m about to stand back up, curiosity guides my hands. Still harboring a sliver of hesitation, I slowly, gently, pull the suitcase out. No lock on it. But whatever his secrets, I won’t tell. Trust is a precious thing.

Trust that I might be betraying.

Looooong preview for my brand-spanking new Patreon (▰˘◡˘▰) I figured I’d set it up in case people wanted to support my silly let’s playing (or writing!!!) efforts!

Check it out, there’s just a $1+ pledge in case people want to support me a bit.

I had an aneurysm (of Mairon and Melkor obsession) and ended up writing a Silmarillion fic of all things. I have no idea what I’m doing, but I know I had fun doing it—and that’s the most important thing, isn’t it? 😊

It’s cute and gay, so if this looks interesting to you, please consider sharing it! ♥

Melkor/Mairon (Morgoth/Sauron) - Female Melkor and Femme NB Mairon - Rated T - 6,437 words

All it takes is one loaded glance across a crowded room—then Mairon just might end up crying: “Lover, gold-hatted, high-bouncing lover, I must have you!”

   Our eyes meet. Shivers slither down my spine. Flanked by her black mane and dark make-up, her gaze is utterly piercing—a void that sees right through me and draws me in. A breath forces itself down my throat. I’m finally released from her spell, if only for a moment. She sits perfectly still and stares at me, alone but in no way lonely. She’s like a snowy mountain that towers above the rest of the bright, lively forest. A hint of a smile ghosts across her face as she wraps her black-painted lips around her cigarette and takes a long, long drag.

And finally the second chapter is ready! This is “the part where we write our own canon”, which involves building a childhood for Jaina and Arthas of my own. It’s mostly just very cute and loving 🌺

If this fic looks at all interesting to you, please consider reblogging it! ❤️

Jaina/Female!Arthas - Rated T - Chapter 2 (of 3) - 10,115 words (of 19,425)

The love between Jaina and Arthas, Crown Princess of Lordaeron, is steadfast—from a blossoming teen romance to an unbreakable bond. But when Arthas treads a path that threatens it all, Jaina must rely on her passion, devotion, and intellect to bring them to safety—whether fate likes it or not. A relationship with a Crown Princess is a tumultuous thing indeed.

  I don't have to turn and look to recognize who's coming. Her footsteps are heavy—far heavier than those of nearly any other lady in the castle, besides the knights. I could swear she makes them that way on purpose. She settles down next to me without a word. I crack one eye open and gaze upon her. At least this year she got to wear a slightly shorter black dress than last time. She wrestles off her slippers, pulls off her knee-socks, and sticks her feet in the water. She lies down and similarly pulls off her black lace gloves. With a deep sigh, she meets my gaze and smiles wryly.

  "Can I have a peach?" she asks. I nod and dig into the little sack I filled with them.

Just in the nick of time for Femslash February, here’s the first chapter of my Jaina/Arthas fic. The full fic is like 45k long, so this is really a labour of love. The idea of female Arthas popped into my head ages ago and settled down there, so I really had to do something about that.

The fic spans over three ages, and in my head the three parts are called: “the part where we tweak canon”, “the part where we write our own canon”, and “the part where we ignore canon and do whatever we want”. This is the tweaking canon part. The whole fic has honestly been a damn good time so far.

Please share this if it looks at all interesting to you ♥ Thank you!

Jaina/Female!Arthas - Rated T - Chapter 1 (of 3) - 9,322 words

The love between Jaina and Arthas, Crown Princess of Lordaeron, is steadfast—from a blossoming teen romance to an unbreakable bond. But when Arthas treads a path that threatens it all, Jaina must rely on her passion, devotion, and intellect to bring them to safety—whether fate likes it or not. A relationship with a Crown Princess is a tumultuous thing indeed.

  My breath stalls when she grabs hold of her long, blonde hair and lifts it off of her back. She ties it into a messy bun with the leather strip that was wrapped around her wrist. Her shoulder and upper back muscles are now in full view. My stomach tingles and I have to remind myself to breathe. Uther motions for her to watch him. He demonstrates a rather flashy move, and they slowly go over each step with their mauls. He corrects her stance a little bit, and I can almost see her pout from here. Finally, she tries it herself on the dummy, holding nothing back. I curl my toes when the solid dummy all but crumbles underneath her pummeling.

  There's no big whoop between them. They merely nod at one another, and Uther gives her a fatherly slap on the shoulder. They part and Arthas finally turns in my direction. Our eyes meet and electricity shoots through my body—from my throat and all the way into my toes. She smiles. Not the slightly smug, crooked one she usually wears, but a sugary sweet one that hatches new butterflies in my stomach. I can't help but return it, albeit sheepishly. She rests her maul on her shoulder and swaggers towards me. Even before she arrives by my feet, she towers over me.

  "Working hard?" she asks with a twinkle in her eye and sets down her maul on the grass beside me.

  "I could ask you the same thing," I say, gazing down at my abandoned notes and reading material. The ink on the tip of my quill has long since dried out by now.

   “D’you think it’s really him?” one of them say, perusing the poster.

   “What do you mean ‘think’? Does any other human being in Thedas look like that?” another quips. They snort.

   “Human being is a stretch.” They laugh. Heavy footsteps approach. I keep staring down at the floor. It’s cold. A few tiles are cracked and most are stained with blood. They range from a few days to several months old, by my calculations. They’re barely illuminated in the golden torchlight. My hands are raised and my body follows. I twitch and clench my abs. Hanging by the chain between my wrists, my feet don’t touch the ground. It doesn’t take much.

   I can feel him staring at me. Right in my face. Needles stir in my gut, worse than ever. I clench my teeth. Eyes narrowed, I dare raise my gaze. Meet his. I can’t tell if his grin is smug or filled with disgust. My lower lip quivers. I stare back down at the tiles. He laughs and I feel his warm, moist breath in my face.

   “This is it? Really? I always imagined him taller. Stronger. You know, like in the book,” he muses.

   “Tethras always was a bloody liar,” another one says. The man before me snorts. My leg itches. I pull it up. Kick. His breath leaps out of his lungs, onto my face–before I plop back onto the stone floor. I refuse to wince and the urge leaves as quick as it came. This ache in my bones doesn’t warrant it.

   “Son of a bitch!” he says, voice strained. It drowns in coughs. Another templar steps in, striding towards me. Here we go.

   “You little demon!” she snarls. Do it already.

   “Should’ve wrapped you in chains and dumped you down a fucking hole,” she mutters as she grabs my hair. Pulls it. Angles my face up. Come on.

   Her fist lands like a thunderclap. The sting pierces my face. From my lip, all the way to my left ear. I can hear my hammering heart. Rust trickles onto my tongue. She pulls her fist back. Fire dances behind her eyes. Shivers race down my spine and a smile creeps onto my bloodied lips. She stops dead in her tracks. The fire dissipates. It makes way for furrowed brows and flared nostrils.

   Her face contorts. Screams erupt from her throat. The other templars draw their swords. Step closer. I shoot them a glare. She rises, draws hers, takes a swing at them. They don’t see it coming. Barely dodge at all. One shrieks at the long gash she sliced down their neck. Goosebumps dance across my skin as I stare at her gut. She’s barely even resisting. I’m not even building up a sweat from this.

   She plunges the sword through her chest. I rise. To my knees, to my feet. With a twitch of my head, blood flows from them both. Teeth gritted, a breath rushes down my throat. I stare at the torch outside my open cell. Beckon its flames. They listen. With all this blood, they have little choice. Every spatter catches fire. If they weren’t screaming before, they are now. Like squealing pigs. The smell of burnt flesh matches perfectly.

   Footsteps sprint down the hall outside. One of them ran. With a flourish, I gather some of the flames between my hands. With a little luck, the rest of the blaze will burn this place to ashes. I stride through the open door. Spot him gunning for the prison gate. I reach out towards him. He stops dead in his tracks, already wailing. My wrists sting. The chains around them are melting in the middle. Nothing compared to what I’m gonna do to him. To the rest of them. All of them.

   “No! No, please!” he begs. I saunter towards him on sore feet. Blood slithers after me from the cell. I feed it the flames from every torch on every wall until I am the only blinding beacon of light left in this dungeon. Laughter bubbles in my chest. I pull my molten chains apart.

   “Should’ve wrapped me in chains,” I say. His words become unintelligible as I get closer.

   “Should’ve dropped me down the deepest hole you could find,” I whisper. I reach out towards him. Fire surges. Tears through the walls and the floor and his skin, his muscles, his teeth. My laughter will ring in his ears when the void claims him.