Warhead On Legs

( Русский язык )

And that's done. And the Desert story's pretty much done, barring that the typo gremlins come by and insert their post-beta'd typos. I swear, they do that on purpose. Those typos weren't there when I finished it.

I'm a little nervous. More than a little nervous; this is the first major-sized work I've shown to anyone in... um. Ever, I guess? At least on this scale, even if it's just an originalbigbang audience. And there are parts of it that drove me nuts, and the whole last chunk was pretty much speed-finished, and and and. And lots of ands. There's lots of ands and buts there, but today's my posting day so I have to suck it up and cope. No time to edit beyond what I've already got read and written. The art and mixes for it, though, are absolutely fucking phenomenal. And now that I've managed to thoroughly freak myself out about what if it crashes, I've backed up everything to at least my laptop, and will back it up to my pocket ninja when I'm at work. So there.

I'm glad to have it over with, and at the same time writing this story has brought me more joy than almost anything I've written since Long Road. Maybe more so than Long Road, sometimes, because Long Road never really got finished (I'll get back to that, I swear). Um. So I don't spam everyone and since I didn't get it coded for my website in time, the entries for the story will be backdated and the master post will go up normally, so you all can read it if you want. Oof. Holy cow, I'm almost done.

Title: Breath
'Verse: Western
Word Count: 1,376
Characters: Laedecker
Summary: The carnival leader says good-bye to his wife for the last time.


The carnival had stopped for the day. Along the side of the road, yes, and no one was setting up, but everyone was glad for the break. Less glad for the reason for it.

Madame Cecile and Lilibeth were agreed that it would be today. Laedecker went out to the mess tent to get his breakfast, eggs and toast and a bit of juice, but he pushed his food around on his plate when he got back to his wagon. Eventually, he set it to one side.

The rise and fall of her chest remained unchanged, but was now accompanied by a rattling sound, dry peas shaken in a water-skin. He reached out when the sun started to stream through the narrow windows and covered her hand with his for a moment, curling his fingers around to her palm. Her skin was soft and still warm. He felt as though maybe he should say something, but what was there to say?

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Title: Kitten and Victor
'Verse: Western
Word Count: 2,000
Characters: Victor, Kitten
Summary: An argument between sort-of lovers.
A/N: If I'm going to do this, I think I need Western icons. I promised myself I would re-read, edit, and post one of these stories, so here it is. This is the original version.

He wasn’t smart. He had the survival instincts of a cat with two lives left and he knew how to use people, but that didn’t make him smart. It was a constant grate on his temper that he knew no matter how many books he tried to understand he would never be as smart as she was.

The one consolation he had was that she was his. Whether she wanted it or not, her body always resonated to his fingers plucking her strings. She came when he called, however reluctantly, and she had lost all name in the town except the one he had given her. Everyone knew her as Victor’s Kitten, and nobody knew who she had been two years ago. Well, he knew, and she knew, but no one else. He’d found a diary she kept, recording the memories of who she’d been before she was his. He let her keep it, but he made sure that no one else knew it was there. Wouldn’t do to have anyone else remembering.

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