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i miss the guy you put worms in.... we used to have a bewormed guy...
taking your hand ever so gently. someday I will write about him being full of worms again. I prommy. and now I am going to give you a handful of worms to hold in the meantime. wigglywigglywiggly.
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thinking about the wormsfic and how I really really do want to finish it but also 1) what started out as a fun little horror piece started turning into a weird meditation on depression and asexuality and chronic injury and relationships and now I want to see That part of it through and I'm. struggling with it 2) because of that I'm worried that my tone isn't consistent between the first chapter and The Rest of It 3) genuinely I'm still trying to figure out what the reaction is when your beloved nephew's maybe boyfriend suddenly moves into your house and he is a) english b) a whig c) smells like rotting meat, horses and dogs are afraid of him, and he coughs up live worms with unpleasant regularity.
a whole 'nother can of weuirms...
tagged by @sanguinarysanguinity - thank you!
Rules: You will be given a word. Share one sentence/excerpt from your wip(s) that start with each letter of that word.
BOSUN
all sentences from the (hopefully sometime soon finished) chapters 2 and 3 of 'Nane Shall Ken Where He is Gane'...
B: But Ardroy is stepping forward, putting a warm hand on his shoulder — when was the last time he was touched with anything at all like warmth?
O: Once again, it seems to be in its proper place, though Keith is a little saddened to see that Ardroy does not wear the ring on his left hand as Philip Windham had worn it.
S: Such knowledge had little value to the soldier or the ghost, and so the unwitting fittingness of his comparison goes unnoticed.
U: Under the pale and papery skin, his veins show dark and near to the surface, only a slightly less saturated shade of blue than they had been in life, though he knows that nothing that could be called blood is running through them now.
N: “Nothing that I am aware of, at the very least.”
and I shall tag... @lacnunga, @lacomandante, @dxppercxdxver, @bluebstopcat, and @baronetcoins, if you'd like to play?
your word is WHALE!
WIP guessing game: head, shoulders, knees, and toes!
[opens the doc with kidnapped / h5 / temeraire / eagle of the ninth things in it] ah yes... 81 instances of just our first word alone...
extended balquhidder sequence take 2:
“Poor lad, still coughing fit to break a heart,” said Mrs. Maclaren, shutting the door softly behind her. Alan, perched on the first step of the staircase, let his head fall into his hands. “Yes— mine!” he choked out, and despite that his words were somewhat muffled, the sentiment was still plain. “There now, it was no fault of yours that he took ill.” She leaned down — rather a long way, to reach Alan’s shoulder — and pulled the cape of his greatcoat straight.
uncategorized sharpe scribblings:
She is the most beautiful woman in the world — how lucky I am that she loves me! That was a mad, fantastic thought, but with Teresa’s arms about his shoulders, and her laugh bright in his ear, Sharpe could not help but believe it to be true. “M’dear,” he said instead, bone-tired and wordless, and he buried his face in her braid where it fell across her shoulder. She embraced him for a moment more, held him against her chest like a victory.
flight of the heron wormsfic:
Keith brings his knees close up to his chest, resting his crossed arms across them and letting his chin fall atop of all. Thus settled, he bides his time, sitting against the black outcropping of stone, fire at his left hand and iron at his right. The night is long, and he is alone as ever he has been, with only the occasional cry of a night bird for company.
flight of the heron green knight au:
“Here is all that I have won,” and as he said it, Keith knew that it was not quite the face of the fact. If anyone had surrendered anything at all — oh, the word stung, but he could not think of a better — it had been Keith himself, and though he had liked what he had got very well, he did not relish the idea of letting it be known. “Eh! but your hands are empty! What then is it that you have to give in trade?” Ewen stood back a little, his smile terribly difficult to resist. “Only this, lord.” Keith bowed his head, gathering his courage, then, going up on his toes, laid his lips lightly against Ewen’s cheek.
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emothy what is the deal with wormsfic. I Must Know
It's The One Where I Put Worms (So Many Worms) In That Man :)
in more seriousness, this is the very very long flight of the heron undead!Keith au which I ...apparently have not posted another chapter of in over a year.
this is an expansion of 'this is not your grave, get out of this hole' to great, wiggly, slimy heights, wherein the idea of this hole not being a grave is somewhat complicated by the fact that it Is in fact a grave. but despite that I continue asking questions such as 'what if you had a Big, Terrible, Difficult-to-Conceal problem (it can be a metaphor for all manner of things if you like) and were loved anyway? what if that problem involved the fact that your open chest cavity was just writhing with worms?'
snippet for vibe taste-testing purposes:
Keith forces his fist closed around a pen, pressing each finger into its once-accustomed place and cursing when they do not comply with his wishes. His hand falls open once more if he tries to refine his grasp, and when he manages to hold the pen long enough for a few letters, the script is shaky, unfamiliar. The ink twists on the page, spidery and wet, and Keith pushes the inkwell aside with enough force that it spills over, blotting out an hour’s efforts. “Of course a dead man cannot write,” he says, and laughs, as much a pitiless half-choked sob as it is a laugh at all. But “Tell me what you wish to say, and I may write for you, if you will permit me,” says Ewen, and finds a fresh sheet of paper to replace the stained one.
For the wip game... Hearth?
flight of the heron wormsfic:
“…Windham?” This is it, his last chance to hide or to run or to lie, and staring up at Ewen Cameron, Keith can do none of those things. Standing there, with his years spent in healing instead of in hardship, he looks like honor and respect and kindness made flesh, like home and hearth-fire and a place to return to at the end of a long day’s journey.
chapter one of the wormsfic is now on an ao3 near you!
[read it here]
