#(since the 'my fics' tag i've been using is probably next to get nuked from orbit)

[mirrorred-star]

Whumpuary Hiatus

Whumpuary is postponed for the following reasons:

I'm really close to running out of ideas for fics. I have two days, my prepared alts, and then I'm stuck for almost two weeks. And because I know I'm on a time limit, it's really hard for my brain to chill enough to come up with how to tackle prompts that aren't really up my alley. I am writing so much shit, guys. Like, writing badly shit. I'm typing everything up in Wordpad, so I'm not working with native spellcheck or auto-correction (for slightly complicated dumbass reasons). I'm not doing a proper rereading pass before posting things. Some of the fics posted are pointless. The first part of the Death Note fanfic needed to be cleaned up, and I didn't because I wanted it done so I could move onto the next thing. I can do a lot better, and you don't deserve your time wasted by reading things that I could have done better with.

All I am doing with every day, now that I have no fic buffer, is write, doing something else on my computer to give myself enough mental space to fix what's wrong with the fic, make myself food, eat food, accidentally spend too much time on the internet, do something else entirely because I need a break from writing or housemate wants to socialise, and sleep. All I have been thinking about is fic. This is probably not good.

Posting at midnight or 2am started to become a fix for the 'accidentally spending three hours on tumblr' issue, which is also… not great.

I haven't been able to set up my tumblr properly and friend more people there because all I've been thinking about has been writing fic or worrying about… fic, or tagging properly, or more fic.

I've been thinking of moving the sickos-yes show to a sideblog to make it easier for people who don't want to see it and want to pretend that I don't do that, and also in case I miscalculate and get the account nuked. I wanted to finish whumpuary first but the more things I post for whumpuary the more likely it is that I'll accidentally get noticed by the kinds of people who might want to try to get my account nuked or just make tumblr very unfun.

I've achieved even more than what I set out to do - I've posted every day for two weeks, I've freely written the horrible things that I like writing about enough to want to keep writing, with the side effect of maybe figuring out what I need to do to fix the vampire novel that I've been trying to write good since 2008*, generating a small hutch of horrible plot bunnies, and figured out more background for the two original canon fics I wrote. And it is probably a much better use of my time to work on the vampire thing or the rpg or making the other thing reasonably presentable than to push myself to churn out another 16 mediocre-to-bad fics before not wanting to touch the keyboard for another two months.

*for the umpteenth time. I'm feeling cautiously optimistic, but every time it seems like the fix will work and then it doesn't. I think I have it, but I won't know until I write the thing.

I don't know if I'll come back to it or not - it'd be nice to complete it, but the pressure of trying to find a new fandom for everything, even though that's probably the most unnecessary limit for a fic writing exercise ever, is a lot. It might be easier to come up with fics for prompts after I've given myself some time to just watch stuff and read stuff and play stuff.

[qlala]

pleeease, my kingdom for just one snippet of the cat!Len fic? 🙏👑

gdsgjl at this rate it's just gonna be a collection of snippets i've already posted on tumblr but I AM having too much fun with it, so here you go:

*****

“Alright,” Barry said, stretching. “We’ve been working on this for hours. I’m starving. Wally, you want dinner?”

“Big Belly has a new veggie burger,” Wally said, sitting back from his own research to crack his neck. “I’ve been meaning to try it.”

“Okay, I’ll call and—ow, Jesus, Snart!”

He tried to yank his leg back in betrayal, but Len narrowed his eyes where he was standing on his back paws and pressed his front claws another millimeter into Barry’s calf through his jeans.

“What?” Barry demanded, a little shrill even to his own ears.

One of Len’s ears flicked in annoyance. When Barry only raised an eyebrow, he made a testy noise bordering on a growl.

“You… Oh.” Barry dragged a hand over the back of his neck and glanced over at Wally with a wince. “Right. We should get something for Len, too. If you want to go pick up Big Belly? I think that pet store on East 15th is still open, so I can go get—oh my god.”

Len had put some real weight behind his claws at the words pet store, and Barry looked down at him incredulously. “I don’t know if you’ve forgotten? You’re a cat right now. You should be eating cat food. I’m sure it tastes… fine.” It was a bad lie, and he pushed past it. “What am I supposed to do, get you a burger?”

Len blinked once.

“No,” Barry said. “That’s—people food, alright? Look, I’ll get the expensive stuff. From that commercial, with the white cat on the label?”

Len glowered back, blue eyes unblinking.

“Glare all you want,” Barry said, firmly. “You’re getting cat food, and that’s final.”

*****

“This is ridiculous,” Barry muttered, pulling the last box out of the Big Belly Burger bag and checking the contents. “New rule, okay? No more breaking skin. That blood’s never gonna come out of my jeans.”

He held the box above Len’s head, waiting for him to meet his gaze. Len glanced between the box and Barry, his tail twitching impatiently.

“I didn’t see you blink once for yes.”

Len glanced away, then looked back at him with a tipped head and a flat glare. He blinked.

“Good,” Barry said. “See, that wasn’t so hard. Now you can have your chicken.”

Len still seemed annoyed by the compromise, but Barry was fairly sure cats ate birds in the wild, and the grilled chicken sandwich (minus the lettuce, tomato, mayo, hot sauce, and bun) was at least less bad for Len than a seasoned burger patty would’ve been.

“This is so weird,” Wally said, veggie burger in hand.

Barry spared a pained glance at where Len was dragging a piece of charred chicken the size of his head out of the grease-stained cardboard box, then muttered, “I’m trying not to think about it.”

“I mean, it’s kinda fucked up, right?” Wally continued. “Like, if this cat is Len—“

Barry didn’t like where he was going, and paused as he was about to take a first bite of his burger. “Wally…”

“—what’s to say the chicken he’s eating wasn’t a person too? Or that cow?”

Barry dropped his burger back on its wrapper with a baleful look.

Wally gave him a sheepish shrug. “Sorry?”

“Yeah, well, maybe your”—Barry tried to poke Wally’s sandwich, and Wally pulled it out of the way with an offended glimmer of speed—“soy protein was a person, too.”

Wally’s smile was equal parts smug and doubtful. “Seems less likely, though.”

Barry rolled his eyes, then reached over and snagged a piece of the grilled chicken from Len’s box. Len growled at him for it (a surprisingly intimidating sound with his jaws around his food), and Barry pointed an accusing finger at Wally.

“Blame him,” he said. “At least if this was a person, you’re already eating them.”

“Uh, I’m not sure that makes it better,” Wally said, glancing between Len and Barry with morbid curiosity on his face. “That’s like, some Hannibal Lecter shit. Sharing a person.”

“Wally,” Barry said, exasperated, letting his arm drop, his elbow on the table. Then glanced down in surprise when he felt small, delicate paws touch his bare forearm. Len was up on his hind paws, and he nosed into Barry’s hand as he watched, determined eyes on the chicken he was holding.

The brush of whiskers against his wrist made Barry laugh, and he surrendered. “Alright,” he said, grinning despite himself at the determined look in Len’s eyes. “Your person, Dr. Lecter. You can have it back.”

Len took the chicken in his teeth, and balanced briefly on his back paws before dropping neatly back to the table. He pointedly started eating it from the side Barry hadn’t taken a bite of, and Barry dropped his hand to scratch between his ears.

His fur was as soft as it looked, and Len tolerated it for a second longer than Barry expected—which was to say, about a second. Then Len ducked away with a frisk of his tail and dragged the food about a foot down the table and out of Barry's reach.

“Dude.”

Barry’s neck warmed even as he lifted his gaze to find Wally staring at him. “What?”

Wally’s raised eyebrow said more than Barry wanted to hear, and he glanced away with a roll of his eyes that probably looked as embarrassed as it felt.