#Fic Ask Game

[nobodysdaydreams]

WIP and Published Fics Ask Game (reblog to play and feel free to drop the emojis/questions in the ask box!)

Questions about WIPs:

🥰 a fluff WIP snippet

😂 a funny or crack WIP snippet

😭 angst or sad WIP snippet

🤩a WIP snippet about or with dialogue from ________ [name of a character]. If you don’t have one for that character, choose someone else!

❓ any WIP snippet you want!

Questions about published fics:

📖 a published snippet from _________ [published work of theirs you haven't had read yet, but are curious about]

😔published lines or a section of a fic that was super sad, angsty, or difficult to write?

😍 published lines or a section of a fic that you loved writing?

🎁name a published gift fic someone has given you that you love and can't recommend enough (be sure to tag the author. Or if you don't have an AO3 or haven't been gifted a fic, what kind of fic would you like to be gifted?)

🤔 ____________? [ask the author a question about any of their published works, such as what the writing process was like, what their favorite fic is, or what character they like writing about].

[epickiya722]

FIC ASK GAME: Give me a fic of mine and I'll tell you a fact about that fic and/or ask a question you have about that fic.

Or just ask a question about writing!

[The fic doesn't have be a fanfiction, it could be an original story, too.]

[mswritingthings]

Send me a character/pairing and a title to get five lines of an imaginary fic.

[laiqualaurelote]

Oooh! Charles/Edwin, musicians/band/orchestra AU for the ask game? :D

thank you for the prompt! (from this AU ask game - it turned out more a Crystal POV but I think the fandom could use more of that)

“Edwin,” says Crystal, “if you take the fucking theorbo onstage I will kill you myself.”

Edwin folds his arms mutinously around the theorbo, which when stood upright on the ground is nearly as tall as he is. “But we need it for the sound!”

“You literally have a billion other instruments! Play those instead.”

“I do not literally have a billion instruments,” says Edwin. “I literally have three. Are we to have lugged the theorbo all the way to the club for nothing?”

“You did not lug the theorbo here,” Crystal points out. “Charles lugged the theorbo here, because he carries all your shit for you.”

“‘Course I do,” says Charles brightly. “Don’t bother me one bit.”

“Charles, you had to push his harpsichord all the way across Hoxton!”

“And the people of Hoxton loved it,” says Charles nostalgically.

Crystal sighs. “Either that theorbo is going onstage or I am, because there isn’t enough space on there for both of us. Literally.”

“I could stand on an amp,” ventures Niko, “and then there would be more room?”

“Niko, honey, you’re not standing on an amp.”

The door bangs open and Jenny sticks her head into the dressing room. “Why are you guys not ready?”

“Crystal and Edwin haven’t decided if we’re bringing out the theorbo yet,” says Niko. “Also, I’m still doing Edwin’s nails, and he can’t play until they’ve dried.”

Jenny throws her hands up in despair. “Why does Edwin have to have his nails done?”

“I think lilac really is his colour,” murmurs Niko, crouched over Edwin’s left ring finger. “Don’t you agree?”

Edwin, who is sitting primly on a flight case in the three-piece suit he insists on wearing to every show, gives Jenny a regal nod of assent.

“For fuck’s sake,” mutters Jenny. “I should never have agreed to manage you idiots. I could have had all my Friday nights in bed with a crime drama.” She inhales. “Anyway, we have a problem. David’s here. He’s in the front row.”

The world narrows. Crystal hates how just the sound of his name can do that to her, for all that it’s been months since she got out from under his thumb. “How’d he know—”

“I did put it all over Instagram,” says Niko anxiously. “Crystal, do you want to cancel, or—”

“No,” hisses Crystal. “No. I can do this. It’s fine. I’m fine.”

“Crystal,” says Edwin, “with all due respect, you are not fine. You are shaking.”

Crystal puts her head in her hands. “It’ll pass.”

She feels Niko’s arms go around her. Overhead, she hears Charles say: “Maybe I should just go out there now and knock his lights out.”

“Or I could stab him,” offers Jenny. “I’ve got the boning knife in the van.”

“We are not knifing my ex right before a show!” yells Crystal.

“Thomas could sort it out,” suggests Edwin. “It is his club, after all. I shall go speak with him.”

“Like hell you will,” Charles protests. “That arsehole won’t lift a finger to help.”

“He will if it’s me asking,” says Edwin. “Now come on. Do you want to play tonight or not?”

*

Edwin Payne is the last person you’d expect to start a rock band. Piano virtuoso, played his debut concerto at the age of eight, won the Liszt at twelve and BBC Young Musician at thirteen. Had it all lined up: scholarship to the Royal College of Music, orchestras queuing round the block to fling gigs at him. Then: unspecified breakdown. Vanished from public view for three years. As a former child pop star herself, Crystal gets it. Okay, so maybe whatever happened with Edwin wasn’t as extreme as drunk-driving your way into a fender-bender so dire that even your platinum award-winning parents couldn’t buy enough spin to keep you out of the tabloids. Anyhoo. The past is the past. Crystal’s living for the present now. 

Of course, she was aware of none of this when she auditioned. As far as she knew, this band had one cute guy and one dickhead snob who clearly didn’t think any decent music had been composed since the 19th century, and who dismissed her CV with a snide “We’re not exactly looking for Hannah Montana here” — whereupon Crystal looked him dead in the eye and sang, pitch-perfect, the first verse of Caro Mio Ben. Edwin pursed his lips like his mouth was a vinegar distillery and said: “Hardly Bartoli, but I suppose she’ll do.” 

Charles punched him in the shoulder. “Oi, mate, be nice.” To Crystal: “You’re loads better than Hannah Montana. Honestly I’m surprised he even knows who Hannah Montana is.”

Crystal could have walked then. She almost did. She was getting her life back together, out of her parents’ shadows and on her own terms; she didn’t need this shitty little band with its one-half shitty leadership. To this day she doesn’t know why she stayed. Maybe it was the open warmth of Charles’ grin, maybe it was the glint of challenge in Edwin’s eye — a heady combo of affection and spite bubbling up in her chest. 

“So what’s the name of this band?”

“It’s aces, you’ll love it,” said Charles. “Spooky Action At A Distance.”

“That,” said Crystal, “is the stupidest fucking band name I’ve ever heard.”

“It is a quantum science concept,” said Edwin frostily, “not that I expect you to understand.”

“It’s sad,” Crystal went on. “Literally, its acronym is SAAAD.”

“I am beginning to regret this,” said Edwin in a too-loud aside to Charles. “Must we have someone on vocals?”

“Look, will you two just jam together one time? It’ll be aces, I promise.”

“So what does Little Lord Fauntleroy play then?” Crystal snapped. “Does he tinkle on the pianoforte after supper?”

Charles chuckled. Edwin arched an eyebrow at Crystal and held out his hand to Charles, who reached down behind them and pulled out a goddamn Fender Strat.

Edwin played a few experimental chords, tuning up, and then his fingers slid and it was Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata, but not like Crystal had ever heard it, wild lightning runs of arpeggios where every note was somehow picked out with the clarity of blown glass. Crystal knew her jaw had dropped, which she seemed unable to do anything about at the moment. The guitar sang in Edwin’s hands, and he never once broke a sweat or eye contact with her.

“Holy shit,” she said when it was over.

“I quite agree.” Edwin flexed his fingers, then stuck out his hand for her to shake. “Allow me to formally welcome you to our little band.”

[mispatchedgreens]

Hi!! For the fic ask game - ↻ ouyang pov of the sparring scene in "before i come undone" please

Thank you for putting together the evilest question you possibly could, here's 1k of raw sweaty unhingedness as reward

Ouyang’s left hand knuckles still ache from punching the wall yesterday. He thinks about that, about plaster cracking under his fist and about that half a second that Zhu looked scared, how her eyes flew to his hand on the wall, centimetres away from her face. The flinch made the tendons of her neck stand out sharply against the smoothness of her throat for the shortest moment before they subsided back. Ouyang thinks about that too, about crawling in there in his entirety, about taking a nap on her molars and about feeling the vibrations of her vocals from the inside. He hates her so fucking much. Every time he thinks they’ve found a modus operandi and settled down in it, she’ll say some shit like “You’ll sing with me for this one,” and make significant and prolonged eye contact. She’ll say “The track needs it, your highness” and she’ll mean I need it, Ouyang. He knows he’s protesting for the sake of it, because Zhu gets her way as naturally as the sun rising and setting. But he doesn’t want to fucking sing. He doesn’t want to record and immortalise his disgusting high voice, while Zhu acts like his tenor. It’d be less humiliating if she asked him to go on stage naked.

And then this. I could help out. He could help out? Fucking preposterous. Ouyang looks at him. He’s a beast of a man, neck to shoulders and arms. If Ouyang were to wrap his own arms around him, he wonders how much his hands would be able to touch each other. His hands are massive too. Ouyang remembers their hands next to each on the umbrella, and the disparity of their sizes. The tiny shorts he’s wearing have managed to ride even higher up on one leg, revealing a strip of paler skin, and it’s outside of Ouyang’s powers not to imagine what it would feel like for those thighs to be pressed up against the back of his own thighs, knees against the tender, sunless flesh of the back of Ouyang’s knees, an oppressive strength that could turn Ouyang’s brain inside out, make it leak out of his ears, and leave him a receptacle for its brutality.

His eyes are smiling, even when he’s not. Ouyang feels diseased with the fact that he can’t seem to look away from his face. He hasn’t been able to look away from his face for months on end now. This isn’t a problem that Ouyang has ever experienced before. Nor has any other man looking back at him managed to make his gut tighten into a burning hot coal in the same way that Zhu can. Not like this man can.

The man blushes at Ouyang’s scrutiny and he can’t help the spark of tenderness that fizzles inside him. “You don’t have to. It was only an idea,” the man rushes to say. His voice is smooth and deep and Ouyang wants to swallow it right up.

Maybe we should fuck instead, he thinks and the thought makes fury blast through him. They’re going to spar and he’s going to win and it’s going to be humiliating.

.

The sparring mat is no lei tai. It feels flimsy like a glorified yoga mat underneath Ouyang’s bare feet, and it is level with the ground. Still, the moment that the man lowers his stance, placing his centre of gravity towards the earth where he wants to go, where he wants to send Ouyang, Ouyang’s chest tightens like taking four steps back would be a fall to the death. The bet here is becoming fast enough to be able to dart into the man’s open embrace, do damage and extricate himself before those arms clamp shut around him. Ouyang isn’t so arrogant as to think that a properly executed wrestling hold won’t keep him down, especially from someone that outclasses him so much in weight.

Ouyang circles and dances carelessly. He stays high, utilising the length of his legs, kicking and kicking some more. He doesn’t think about it. Every move he’s ever used is stored up inside of him, a horrifying concoction of styles that barely fit together. His heart beats up into his throat, almost like it’s trying to fill it with blood, like he’s going to taste blood. He reaches up fast, to slap a palm flat on the man’s ear and instead gets punched in the mouth for his trouble. It is a consuming, sharp sunburst of sensation, knuckles against lips, lips against teeth. Ouyang wants it forever.

He gets low to sweep a foot at the man’s ankles but he evades it masterfully if not a bit awkwardly. Ouyang almost smiles. The steps back have left his right side open for half a second. Ouyang springs up with the might of a diver pushing at the sandy bottom of the sea and shooting up towards oxygen. His knee connects beautifully with ribs and gut. The whites of the man’s eyes flash with the shock of it and Ouyang is so well pleased he chances a second kick while he’s up there, jabbing with the knee and then hitting with the leg extended, consecutively. It’s not nearly as powerful as the first one and on the return, the man gets him.

He dives into Ouyang’s body like he’s certain he’ll be welcomed, cradled. His arms feel like huge slabs of stone around Ouyang. It’s this that causes his breathlessness, more so than his back hitting the mats with a thud. While he could do nothing to prevent this, he can stack his odds of escape while the takedown is happening. Ouyang gets an arm inside of the hold, right along his body, to crowbar his way out of there with his shoulder. His feet slip on the man’s leg, scrambling against him to find a vulnerable spot. Their sweat makes this an unrefined business, slippery and uncomfortable, fucking glorious. The man’s hair slips out of its ponytail to stick at his brow. He tightens his hold on Ouyang and his smell is potent, all consuming, masculine and thick and Ouyang thinks if he were to open his mouth right now, he’d surely fucking moan.

The need to stay there intensifies to blind him, as a rabbit stays on the road staring at the oncoming traffic. Ouyang puts his escape plan to action, and it requires all of his might and some more of it to grapple the man into the ground. His muscles tense and tense like they’ll all tear in a second, but he does it, he puts the man face first on the ground and sits on his back, victorious. There’s a churning in his gut, a tiny summer storm, hot rain and electricity, his idiot, tiny hands grasping all of that power, all of that man, and shaping him like plasticine, putting him in his place, where he should be, where Ouyang wants him.

He leans down, his mouth tingling from his gums to his trachea, making spit like it’s waiting for company. “Got you.”

[f1amboyant]

↻ pick a fic and a different ship and I’ll tell you how I’d rewrite it for: The Worst Alpha and carcar:)

✄ what’s your editing process? (i loooove hearing about people's writing and editing processes)

✦ what was your easiest fic to write & your hardest?

💕💕

Hiiii, thank you for the ask 💕

-> ask me more

✄ what’s your editing process?

Interesting question! I'm gonna answer with my writing process a bit, because both are intertwined (and you said you love hearing about writing process, too 🫣)

So for short fics (under 2k I would say), I mostly write the whole thing in one or 2 sittings, with no plan, just an idea in my head. And when it's done I edit multiple times. A first reread to adjust some details here and there, make a few sentences flow better. And then I do a spelling check, with 2 different softwares because English is not my first language so I want to get it covered.

For longer fics, I plan the whole story, I plan the chapters, I plan the scenes. Then I write scene by scene, usually in order. For each scene, I first write it very badly. I write the scene, fast and bad, not caring about beautiful sentences. The idea is just to put words on the page and to block the scene (like in movies). When this part is done, I go back and I edit a first time, going over all this poorly written scene to write beautiful sentences (or as beautiful as I can do), to make it readable, basically. Then, since it's a long fic and that some ideas might have pop up in the middle of nothing, I do one or 2 full reread, to adjust everything, make sure everything is coherent, make sure the character doesn't realise he is in love 3 times in 3 different chapters, go back to foreshadow an idea that popped in a later chapter, things like that. And then I can do a spell check on each chapter and that's it! ✨

✦ what was your easiest fic to write & your hardest?

Easiest: Corset ~ The words just flew out of me, and it greatly helped that @moossings worked on their drawing at the same time as I wrote, so I just had to put their sketches into words and that was so much fun.

Hardest: Steal your art (and your heart) ~ The first chapters were so much fun and so easy to write, I wasn't prepared for the enormous block that fell on me halfway through it. Writing the last chapters was so so hard, for no particular reason. I was lucky I had my dear @drspleenmeister writing with me 🫶

↻ pick a fic and a different ship and I’ll tell you how I’d rewrite it for: The Worst Alpha and carcar:)

Oooooooh, that's an interesting one. The Worst Alpha is omagaverse charlos, with alpha Charles experiencing omega Carlos' heat for the first time and having a whole crisis about if he is or not a good alpha. And truly, I think Oscar would fit that role pretty well too.

Oscar is an Alpha who grew with omega sisters. He knows what it is to be an omega. In theory. But he's never been with an omega. So it's all pretty new. And also, he has this massive crush on Carlos, because damn, have you seen that man?? Oscar was doomed from the start. But he's trying to act like a good alpha and not get overbearing with the omega he fancies, so he stays mostly away.

Then Lando shenanigans, probably. Maybe Lando does it on purpose or maybe not, but it makes Carlos and Oscar meet. Maybe, Carlos is in heat, and he usually goes to omega Lando for comfort during his heat but Lando isn't answering. And when Carlos goes to Lando's room, he finds Oscar there because Oscar is waiting for Lando to return too (maybe Lando asked him over and then forgot, or something like that).

It hits Oscar. The smell. Powerful. And so so sweet. Mouthwatering. Oscar is losing his fucking mind.

"Oh sorry, I thought this was Lando's room."

"You're in heat."

"Pff, this guy," Carlos huffs. "I know, that's why I'm looking for Lando."

"He's not here," Oscar answers unhelpfully, but his brain is completely fried. There's Carlos in the room with him. Carlos in heat. Oscar is gonna die.

"Well, tell him to call me if you see him."

Carlos starts to leave but Oscar stops him.

"Do you need help? With your heat? Until Lando comes back," Oscar offers.

"Sure." Carlos has never been with an Alpha before but this one smells pretty nice and also, he is tired of waiting for Lando, so why not? He's not afraid of a little Alpha rookie.

So they spend a little time together, in Lando's room. It's awkward as fuck. Carlos borrows a hoodie from Lando and sits on the couch, to play some game. Oscar stays with him and offers to help, getting him heat supplies that he steals from Lando (he doesn't care). He doesn't really know what to do, how to feel. It's never been like that in his family. Oscar is a pretty decent Alpha, but he never had to fight the urge to bend this Omega in half and fuck him senseless. But yeah, that's what's happening now. He is losing his mind.

He keeps his wit enough to half ass taking care of Carlos until Lando comes back and saves them from the awkwardness. Except after that Oscar can't stop thinking about it, can't stop thinking about Carlos. If he had a crush before, this gets to another level entirely because now, he knows what Carlos in heat smells like and it's too much for him. Too much to stay away. So he tries to get close, to court him very awkwardly (and never saying officially it is courting). And maybe in his quest to get closer to Carlos, he also crashes with him on track a little too much (oops 🤭).

They're not exactly becoming friends but they're getting closer. And Carlos isn't entirely immune to this awkward Alpha who's courting him, without courting him. It's cute. And he likes him more and more.

So his next heat, he doesn't go to Lando, he goes to see Oscar (Oscar once again losing his fucking mind as he refrains all instincts to fuck/mate/breed with the beautiful Omega). And again and again. They spend more time together, spending heats together. But nothing happens. They just cuddle a little, play games. They talk too, getting to know each other.

Until Carlos says he would like to try spending his heat having sex, because it can be fun and a very good time (Oscar definitely loses his mind at that). They almost kiss already, just talking about it, grinding against each other (Oscar is losing his mind, definitely). They agree to have sex next heat.

Next heat comes. Oscar is beyond excited, he cannot wait to be with Carlos again. But he sees Carlos with another Alpha (Charles, or Max, maybe). And the two are not flirting exactly, but they are not keeping their distance either. And with Carlos being in pre-heat, this could really be courting.

Oscar is devastated. He thought he was a good Alpha, but apparently he's the worst because Carlos is choosing someone else, and why wouldn't he choose someone else. So Oscar spirals out of him mind, while Carlos' heat hits and it's way stronger than before and without Oscar there to help him, Carlos is losing his mind too but for a whole other reason.

So a little bit of misunderstanding, and an intervention from Lando before they finally get together and it's all better, it's all okay. And their first time is awkward as fuck but so hot and Oscar is the worst Alpha but he doesn't care because apparently, Carlos loves it (him).

[pagegirlintraining]

✂️🎵 for dancing through life pls? 💜

Thank you Lia 💜 it’s been ages since I’ve gotten to talk (or honestly think much) about DTL. So answering this ask was such a nice throwback.

I’ll start with the shorter answer, which is ♬ THEME SONG: pick a fic and I’ll share a song that reminds me of it (and why!):

There are so many possible songs for this one, simply because of all the routines. But one that isn’t directly involved in it but still reminds me of it is “Power” by Spinall, because the original plan for the epilogue was to let them perform a street dance choreo to this song. Obviously in the end I went less ‘fuck the monarchy’ and more ‘dreamy, fluffy boys in love’. But I still think they’d have killed that choreo.

As for the deleted scene, I picked the moment Simon learns about Wille’s obsession with the ship edits people keep making of them. Featuring Erik being a shithead of course 😁 this is set in chapter 11, during the night of their dinner where Simon first meets Erik as Wille’s boyfriend.

The sound of laughter coming from the saloon made Wilhelm stop, his hand halting its movement right above the door handle in favor of listening for a moment.

It wasn’t like he’d necessarily been worried about leaving his brother and his boyfriend alone for the five minutes it had taken him to use the bathroom. Still, having this audible proof that they were getting along splendidly without him flooded his chest with so much warmth, he had to give himself a moment to process it. To really dwell in this feeling of pure, utter love he felt for the two men whose laughter had morphed more into a series of giggles on Erik’s part and several snorts on Simon’s now. Only then did he let himself press down the handle.

“You need to see this, baby,” was the first thing out of Simon’s mouth the moment he clocked Wilhelm’s presence, an outstretched hand waving Wilhelm over in a gesture so entirely adorable, he thought for a moment his heart was going to entirely melt inside his chest. Erik made sure to prevent that from happening.

“Oh, don’t worry. He’s probably seen all of these already”, he was saying, and from the devilish gleam in his eyes, Wilhelm knew instantly that that couldn’t possibly be a good thing for him.

“What are you watching?” he asked, unable to fully suppress an air of apprehension. In response, Simon simply repeated the same gesture with his hand, and this time, Wilhelm followed his request, stepping over to the sofa holding him and Erik, his hand immediately finding Simon’s shoulder, thumb brushing the side of his neck as he peered over it and onto the laptop screen on Simon’s legs.

He was only mildly surprised when he found a picture of his own face there, an official one that the Let’s Dance Instagram account had used to announce his and Simon’s partnership on the show, albeit airbrushed in a way that made it seem like he was exuding a white glow. There wasn’t much time to wrap his head around this, since his gaze was caught quickly by another face beside his own, this one Simon’s, just as ridiculously airbrushed. He had also clearly been cropped out of the original photo in order to stand closer to Wilhelm, in a way that left them both smiling right at the camera, their photoshopped temples nearly touching.

“Vote for #TeamWilmon” the caption above said, with a whole rainbow made of hearts and two crowns behind it. Yeah, he definitely knew why Erik had been laughing now. And knowing his brother, the next few minutes, if not hours, were bound to be majorly embarrassing for Wilhelm.

“It seems people have decided that we have a team name now,” Simon was saying, clearly oblivious to his inner turmoil, “There’s a whole hashtag and it’s apparently been trending on and off over the last few weeks.”

“Oh. How, uh, supportive of them.”

“They’re really creative, too”, Simon continued, apparently too engrossed in this new discovery to notice Wilhelm’s abysmally hidden embarrassment. “This one person made a compilation of you tripping in practice and told people to vote if they wanted to see the monarchy fall.”

“That… that’s actually pretty clever”, Wilhelm got out, feeling himself relax a little bit. He could handle Simon potentially teasing him about falling down in practice. Lord knew he was already doing plenty of that, and eight times out of ten, Wilhelm got a kiss or two as an apology afterwards. So honestly, he didn’t mind that part in the least. What he was much more nervous about was Erik tattling on him and telling Simon how he’d been actively watching different kinds of videos about himself and Simon lately. So much so that his entire for you page was now basically one big collage of ‘Wilmon’. Because yeah, people were very creative when it came to putting together different combinations of clips of the two of them to all kinds of dramatic and sometimes cutesie music. And sue him, but a lot of times, that combination really worked for him.

Any tentative hope of getting out of this mostly unharmed was crushed the moment Erik cleared his throat, adding a low chuckle eight after.

“I’m surprised you haven’t seen any of these before, Wille. Then again, you’re more partial to the couple montages, aren’t you?”

“The couple montages?”

Of course, Simon would’ve jumped right on that. Wilhelm’s eyes squeezed shut in a pained expression all by themselves. When he opened them again, Simon had shifted on the couch, now fully turned back to face Wilhelm.

“You’re making couple montages?”

And okay, with how not at all weirded out - and maybe even slightly excited - Simon sounded asking this, Wilhelm suddenly felt almost bad that that wasn’t what he’d been doing.

“Not, uhm… not exactly.”

“He’s binging ship edits of the two of you. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d made a fan account himself at this point.”

Yup, leave it to his big brother to ruin his life.

“You’re completely exaggerating”, he claimed, trying to come off as somewhere between amused and nonchalant rather than as panicked as he suddenly felt. Because what if Simon thought that was a ridiculous, or even creepy thing for him to be doing? What if he disapproved of the whole ‘shipping real people’ aspect of it all and would get mad at Wilhelm for not actively opposing it?

“Oh, am I?“ If anything, Erik’s grin had widened since Wilhelm’s last comment, which kind of made him regret not simply keeping his mouth shut. “So you’re saying if I were to check your Tiktok likes right now, there wouldn’t be anything from, say, last night, when you insisted on going to bed early only to then proceed to watch videos without your headphones until way past midnight?”

“Fuck off, Erik. I was watching a movie and fell asleep in front of it.”

It wasn’t even a lie. He had put on an old comedy for background noise that he’d ultimately ended up dozing off to. There was no actual way for Erik to know that he’d been more focused on the compilation of their rehearsal packages he’d been watching on his phone at the same time.

“Sure, stay in denial”, Erik told him now, his tone of voice making it very clear that be wasn’t actually planning on letting Wilhelm stay in denial about this. And really - “I just thought your boyfriend should know how big of a fan you are of your rela-“

That’s as far as he got before Simon surprised both of them by asking, “Do you have a favorite?”

It took Wilhelm a moment to even grasp the meaning of the question. When he did, he still felt like he needed to check again.

“You mean, like… a favorite edit?”

“Exactly.”

To his utter surprise, Simon was smiling up at him warmly, one hand coming to cover Wilhelm’s on the back of the couch, thumb beginning to draw slow patterns onto the back of it.

“I’ve only seen some of the ones that Rosh has sent me, but I’d love to know which ones you like. You know, just for, like, inspo, if I ever miss you and feel like checking some out.”

His cheeks had started to take on a slightly pink tinge toward the end, but just like the incredibly brave man Wilhelm knew him to be - god, he was so much braver than Wilhelm himself ever would be - he didn’t seem to even think about averting his eyes, or playing anything off with a stupid joke. No, his loving, wonderful boyfriend was looking right at Wilhelm with a soft smile and eyes that sparkled with open curiosity. And holy fuck, Wilhelm was so completely gone for him.

“I’ll show them to you later if you want,” he offered, and suddenly, it was the easiest thing. Because why not own the fact that he liked watching clips involving him and his beautiful boyfriend if it made Simon so obviously happy, and even a little bit giddy?

“”I’d love that”, he was telling Wilhelm now, smile deepening as he continued to stare up at him, their gazes irrevocably caught in one another.

“Urgh, you’re no fun”, Erik groaned next to them, but Wilhelm didn’t even need to look at him to know that he, too, was suppressing a genuine smile, even as he continued, “If you’re gonna keep doing whatever this is, I think I’ll call it a night now.”

“Night, Erik”, Wilhelm quipped without once taking his eyes off Simon, whose hand had now started to travel over his wrist and up his arm, leaving a string of goosebumps in its wake.

“Unbelievable,” he heard Erik mutter, but couldn’t find it in himself to mind the teasing he knew this would lead to in the future even a single bit.

I hope you like it and it feels in tone with the story. It really has been so long since I tried getting into DTL Wilhelm’s head (and writing him as Wilhelm. The amount of Wille’s I had to change in this one, rip me 😂) Anyway, thank you so much again for the ask, and giving my hectic brain something to be nostalgic about today 🥹💜

[ninnosaurus]

HI NINNO (its thegirlwiththeninjaturtletattoos)

(sry side blog problems)

I would love for you to puree my heart with

15 . "I was yours." and 19. "I wanted everything."

bayverse turtle of choice!

:')))))

HI!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Okay I am so sorry this is so short 😭 I had a much longer story planned out in my head but a few days after your ask I was hit by a cold and I'm still sick. So, I just wanted to get it out before I end up getting SICKER which would result in not... writing it at all :((( so it's kind of... rushed at the end there.

Warnings: Angst? Fluff? I dunno what it contains really Contains: Bay!Leo and a smidgen of Mikey on the side >:)

15. "I was yours" + 19. "I wanted everything."

You know Leo is careful with his feelings. Almost more so than Raphael. Leo’s sole purpose in life was to protect. Atleast, it’s what he believes it is. 

He’s hell bent on denying himself anything positive, anything good. Not until he decides he deserves it. And it hurts you to see him push away food for his younger brothers. There may only be a few months between him and Raph, but to Leo, Raph is still his younger brother and should eat before him. 

It hurts you to see him watch as his brothers find love amongst humans who accept them. Because you see it in his eyes, that he too is longing for it. 

And it hurt you knowing that you’d tried telling him how you felt for years now. But every time he pushed you away. So, you stopped. And you decided it was time to move on from him. Even though you knew he felt the same. You find yourself getting closer to Mikey when he himself had to break up with his partner. You both comforted each other in your heartbreaks. And it wasn't long before feelings started to grow. But that was also when Leo stopped existing in the same vicinity of you. Always leaving the area when you walked in.

Winter has hit New York hard, and Mikey had begged you to come down to the lair so he could use you as a heating pad. Which is how you found yourself under a thick blanket laying comfortably on his plastron, watching a movie. You both jumped when you heard a crash and a “are you fucking kidding me?!”. from the kitchen area. Sitting up you both looked towards it. There, you saw Leo.

The rare look of just pure anger, and frustration, and something else you couldn’t decipher. 

Mikey sit up as you move to sit on your heels.

“You okay, bro?”

The look Leo gave his baby brother when he walked over to the two of you could’ve incinerated him on the spot. 

“Do I look okay?”

Mikey threw his hands up in defeat.

“Jesus, sorry for asking, I guess. Fuck crawled into your shell this morning? You’re usually not this cranky during winter.” He smooched your cheek and you smiled. “You want hot choccy?” 

“Yes, please!”

Leo scoffed after sitting down in one of the bean bags, making you look at him.

“What’s your deal, Leo?”

“Nothin’.”

“You’re not allowed to be mad at me.”

That made him whip his head towards you but before he had time to say anything you continued. Voice laced with hurt and anger.

“I told you. Time after time that I was yours! You pushed me away every single time! And don’t act like you didn’t have feelings for me too, because I know you did. You hurt me! I was yours, and I wanted everything, Leo!”

You get up from the couch and left the Lair. Not even stopping when you heard Mikey call after you.

Ping! @thegirlwiththeninjaturtletattoos

[iceman-maverick]

(temporary) amnesia/"I don't understand what that means."

“I don’t understand what that means,” Ice blinks. 

Maverick drops his head to hands and begins to say the alphabet backwards in his head to keep himself from throwing the damn clipboard out the window. 

“Ice,” Maverick tries again, “It’s a consent form. You have to sign it so that I can take you home,” 

Ice nods, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. His eyebrows scrunch as he re-reads the papers in front of him for now the third time since the nurse began the discharge process.

Maverick can't find it in himself to be too put out, though. The bandage around Ice’s forehead must be bothering him since his fingers keep inching their way up to pull at it as he reads. Maverick, unwilling to stare at Ice in discomfort any longer, stands and crosses the distance between his chair and Ice’s bed.

Why they’d require a temporary amnesiac to fill out medical forms, Maverick does not know. But what he does know is that Ice is exhausted, likely in far more pain than he’s letting on, and that hospitals give Mav the creeps. 

All compelling reasons to get this show on the road. 

“Here,” Mav says, sitting down on the bed’s edge and plucking the clipboard from Ice's hands, “What are you confused about?” 

Ice has done a good job filling it out so far - no small feat given the massive concussion and head wound he earned himself this morning by accidentally smashing the edge of his car door into his forehead. Maverick had nearly had a heart attack when he found him crumpled in the garage in a pool of blood. So much for beating the morning traffic.

Ice has spelt his name correctly, has the right address, and even marked down the correct pharmacy around the block from their house. Mav squints his eyes - a perfect mirror of Ice before - as he combs through the forms to find the hold up. 

Ice huffs and points to the bottom section of the second to last page in the packet. It reads: Caregiver Consent Form. It’s a check list of the basics - caution when using ovens and other hot surfaces, no operating heavy machinery (Mav’s assuming that would include an F-14), and recommendations to lock up hazardous materials out of sight of the patient. 

Ice, clearly running low on patience and eager to get out of the bustling ER, draws his finger over the large paragraph of legal jargon that has Maverick’s eyes swimming. Ice points out Maverick’s legal name as Ice's designated caregiver and then taps on the portion of the form left blank: Relationship to patient. 

He looks back to Maverick, eyes wide, and asks, “What am I supposed to put here?” 

Maverick blinks at the form. Relationship. Huh.

They’ve been living together for the better part of two years now with Ice having moved in once he joined Maverick back at Top Gun. And they’ve been um, well, together for pretty much just as long. They never talked about labels but it’s been exclusive since the start and Ice has been wearing Mav’s dog tags since January. 

Maverick doesn’t have the slightest idea what that makes them but friends sure as hell doesn’t fit. He smirks a bit, and peers around their section of the ER to make sure nobody’s looking. The ER is in total chaos anyways - nurses scrambling, children screaming, and what looks to be a fist fight soon to be erupt between two elderly women fighting over the lone issue of People Magazine. 

Maverick leans in and presses a quick kiss to Ice’s cheek, and then takes advantage of Ice's poor, frazzled state to snatch the pen from Ice’s grasp. Maverick delights in the flush that colors Ice's cheeks, and then he begins to write. Ice recovers from his shock quickly, sputters once he reads what Maverick's writing, and then shoves at Maverick’s arm.

“Are you fucking crazy?” Ice whispers furiously as Mav breaks out into giggles. 

“Alright, alright, calm down,” Mav laughs as he scratches out his now aborted attempt at Boyfriend. He instead opts for the safer Roomate. “It’s a Civvy hospital, nobody would’ve found out,” 

“You’re an idiot,” Ice huffs fondly, shoving again at Mav’s arm. Ice quickly glances around the place and decides that the cost is clear. Or maybe it's the pain killers dulling his judgement. Either way, Ice drags his fingers lightly down Maverick’s forearm and then intertwines their fingers. 

“Take me home,” Ice whispers. He squeezes once, Maverick squeezes back twice. 

---

Congratulations! You've unlocked the prequel to my useless-whiny-baby syndrome ice fic (lost in admiration).

We're playing an IceMav askbox fic game. Send me a trope and a first sentence and I'll write at least one paragraph!

[i-am-church-the-cat]

for 3 sentence fic hear me out,,

loscar scifi au 👁️👁️

Say less

--

"Logan-" Oscar's voice is steady, always steady "-what did you do to your arm?"

They both looked at where Logan's arm was broken at the elbow joint, a single wire connecting the two pieces and shooting off increasingly threatening sparks.

Logan smiles back at the mechanic sheepishly, "I might have crashed my pod."

[blorbocedes]

↻ FLIP FLOP for strawberry ice elfbar, please!!!!

the fic

Max is surprised to see Lando. In a good way, of course, it is always good to see Lando. Especially after he had been so riled up in the press conference. Max paid it little mind, he's been through the rigamarole of the press blowing up even the smallest comments and athletes at their most emotionally volatile. He was ready to give Lando some time to cool off before reaching out.

But seeing Lando on his jet, like they were supposed to fly home from Austria, meant that the worst of the storm blew over. Lando's even sitting in his window seat. Max beelines the seat next to him, putting his bag in the overhead compartment.

He breaks the ice with: "“And the media said we’re not friends anymore. Should I kick you out?"

Lando doesn't break into the easy smiles. He looks up at Max with that stormy expression, saying nothing.

"Really?"

Still nothing.

"Are you going to be like this the whole flight?"

Max's entourage of Red Bull staff know better than to gawk, but he knows they're curious about it too. Lando's closed up like a prickly clam, and its up to Max to pry him open. He shakes his head at the petulance, taking the seat beside him.

Of course, throwing Lando out of the plane is never even in question. How would he get home, with Fernando and the Ferrari planes already departed? Max would never let a friend fly business class, not even petulant momentarily estranged ones.

He has a strawberry ice vape in his jeans pocket, waiting as a peace offering. And if it doesn't work, he knows other ways of cheering Lando up. If he has to get a little more hands-on with it.

The jet starts take-off.

[charmsandtealeaves]

Spitting Image AGAIN! 31 please 🤭

31. Share a snippet of unpublished work.

You know I could be cruel because it does state an unpublished work and Spitting Image is a published work 😂 but as I love you and I’m feeling generous I’ll break the rules.

Lily retrieved a small notebook from her purse and James couldn’t help but smile. “Well this feels familiar,” he joked, nodding his head toward the notebook now sitting open in her lap.

“Well you did say if you had the chance of a redo you’d think about it more and tick the appropriate boxes. I’m just making sure we’re both on the same page and have all our boxes ticked, I’s dotted and T’s crossed,” she replied, smoothing out the crinkled page with the palm of her hand.

“Interview away Evans…”

[sibylsleaves]

hiiii there! a fic you've reread again and again and why, and a favourite quote? - @team-118

💗 a fic you’ve reread again and again and why!

authentication by @vgreysoncellars is a recent one! I think I reread this fic within a week of reading it for the first time. It's just so good, hits every beat perfectly and is both deeply well-characterized AND tons of fun. Will never forget Eddie getting ensconced in LA softball league drama....

📝 a fav fic quote

I'm so not good at remembering quotes or noting them down BUT this line from brick (another fic I've reread probably like 5 times) always gets me:

“I can’t believe you gave your sperm to someone who isn’t me!” Eddie explodes, like he’s been sitting on that one for a good long while.

Like has there ever been a more perfect eddie line in the history of eddie lines..........no

fic ask game

[laiqualaurelote]

Hello, dearest author,

Please write more of that cracky superhero au as an actual fic? It's really good, and made me smile and laugh.

Thank you,

Azadale, Independent

Dear Azadale! I am so sorry I missed this ask, which has been languishing in my inbox for ages. I am afraid I do not have any more of the cracky superhero AU written but I am happy to share what would have been the general plot, which I once brainstormed with @leupagus.

The superpowers of the AFC Richmond team are, respectively: - Isaac: can chop things in half with his hands - Zoreaux: elasticity - Jamie: invulnerability - Sam: healing - Dani: blazes light - Colin: chameleon, basically invisible - Bumbercatch: X-ray vision - Richard: incredibly sensitive palate - Jan Maas: is always right, or so he says

All the players manifest some kind of superpower, although it takes some time to figure out who has what, since some of them, like Richard's, are not immediately obvious. The sole exception is Zava, who brushes this off by saying that "Zava needs no superpowers for he is already God". It clearly bothers him, however, and he eventually quits the team.

None of the coaches, nor any of the other staff, manifests any powers. Trent, by elimination, speculates that the superpowers may have to do with the showers, since Zava does not shower with the rest of the team. Ted finds Trent standing in the showers, investigating, and their ensuing banter so flusters Trent that he turns on the shower while standing under it, fully-dressed, and is soaked through.

The team debate if it is ethical to use their powers to win the Premier League. They decide it is not and make a pact to refrain from using their powers on the pitch, or for that matter anywhere in public, to keep the whole thing a secret. The one person who does break this rule is Colin, who uses his powers of invisibility to become a vigilante after hours. He hangs around LGBTQ clubs, makes sure young queer folks get home safely, and beats up homophobes who harass them.

Trent's investigations lead him to discover there is an alien spaceship buried in the sewer under Nelson Road, from whence the shower powers spread. He attempts to warn the team during the home match with West Ham, only for the aliens to invade the surface and wreak destruction, forcing the team to use their powers to protect the crowd. Nate is almost exploded by an alien but saved by Jamie shielding him.

Though AFC Richmond save the day, they are subsequently disqualified from the Premier League because their powers are deemed an unfair advantage. As Nelson Road has now been taken over as a government black ops site, Rebecca rebrands AFC Richmond as a crimefighting superhero league and has Keeley handle their PR push. The team thrive at first in their new roles, but find that they miss football. Meanwhile, Ted's depression is worsening, as he feels he has no purpose in London any more and is spiralling more than ever.

Trent eventually works out that Jan Maas' power of always being right, which nobody took seriously even though he described it accurately from day one, means that he can in fact rewrite reality. They decide to have Jan erase everything that happened, so that they can go back to being normal footballers. Only Jan - and, mysteriously, Trent - retains any memory of the alternate reality.

At the end, it is finally revealed that this entire story is a novel written by Trent. The last scene of the fic is his book launch, which the players attend. Jan confronts Trent about whether he has a superpower of his own, since he was also in the showers. Jan suggests that Trent's superpower is metadiegesis - he can move between narrative layers and break the fourth wall. At this point, Trent addresses the reader directly to state: "Reader, I can neither confirm nor deny."

I hope this made you smile!

[chickycherrycola]

for the imaginary lines 'Explode' and crossstitch ofc. when in doubt use music for a title lol <3

whoa hey, here i am with a response to this ask only... months later 😅 the muse works in mysterious ways, i tell ya. have some semi spicy crossstitch, as a treat:

"Do you trust me?" Such an innocent question, made all the more thrilling by the look in Stein's eyes - cool and calculating as ever, but now with a hunger simmering within that turns Spirit's blood into pure electricity in his veins. Spirit swallows, his gaze flickering down to the familiar object clutched between Stein's long fingers - the silky obsidian fabric of Spirit's own tie, its sheen capturing what little light illuminates the space between them. "Yes," Spirit nods, the word leaving his lips in a breathless whisper. The anticipation threatens to tear him open, threatens to explode right out of his skin, as Stein lifts the fabric to Spirit's eyes and secures it with a knot behind his head.

I can't find the original ask game post that this ask was based on, but it was along the lines of 'submit a title and a pairing and you'll get a five-sentence fic'. If you see this post, feel free to keep the asks coming. maybe i'll use them as fuel for short little Cherrytober drabbles. 🍒

[bella-caecilia]

I wish you would write a fic where... Cora and Robert would've had their son.

Yes! We were robbed! I don't know if I'll ever commit to this weighty storyline but here is a tidbit of how it could look <3

⟫⟫⟫

His hands clasped behind his back, Robert squeezed his fingers and let his gaze flit over the rainy garden behind the floor-to-ceiling windows. His mind was turning over the words of the latest letter from the war office. These letters were his invaluable connection to the front. He wasn't there himself; he had other duties to attend to. But at least he was being kept informed.

"Robert, darling. Do you want another cup of tea?" Her voice was soft but it pierced through his thoughts sharper than any scream could have. Her fragile tenderness was such a harsh contrast to the content of his thoughts. He suspected there was more she wanted to say from the open tone of her question. But upon turning around, he registered Carson and believed that her concern was too intimate to call across the room.

He left the rain-streaked window and took the tea Carson had silently poured him. He went to stand next to an empty settee and avoided looking at Cora. On his mind was the war. He didn't want mix these images with the vision of his wife, rosy and soft and naive.

Robert held on to the saucer and the silver spoon and felt no interest in the tea whatsoever. The same words went round and round in his mind. Germany is advancing on all fronts. Reading the letters from the war office felt increasingly like a fever dream. And he wanted to put an end to it himself.

"Oh, look who is there!" Cora's cooing caught his attention in an instant once again. Robert's head shot up and he took in Nanny in the doorway with the little master on her hip. A serene calm seized Robert's mind. Finally. Arthur managed to achieve this better than anyone else.

Robert watched Nanny walk over to where Cora was seated and place the little master on his mother's lap.

"Thank you, Nanny. I will ring for you when you can pick him up again."

Nanny bowed out. Robert lifted the teacup to his lips and followed Cora's gentle gestures with his eyes. She patted little Arthur's white gown and adjusted the ruffles on his tiny shoulders. His arms were so short, his little fists so easily disappeared in Cora's palm, his feet didn't reach his mother's knees. Robert was once again in shock at how miniature everything on Arthur was. Though, he was an infant after all.

Cora lowered her lips to the crown of Arthur's head. Robert watched the scene with a moved tug in his chest. What a gift. His eyes didn't leave the innocent, embracing duo as he approached them. He discarded his teacup on a tray and carefully sat down on the other end of Cora's settee. Their eyes met for a second before they both observed their son who had taken hold of Cora's pearl necklace and purred quietly in full concentration, studying the accessory.

"Careful, dear chap," Robert said softly. "That's a favourite of your mother's."

Cora kissed the infant's dark hair again. "It's alright. I like to share it," she hummed.

Robert was enraptured by the gentle display of mother and son. He lifted his hand to his wife's face and tentatively brushed the back of his forefinger over her incredibly soft cheek. She acknowledged him with a fond, even smitten smile.

Robert was reassured that his duty here at home wasn't any less important than supporting the war. It was very different but a single look at his wife and their infant son confirmed his responsibility and the rightfulness of his staying.

⟫⟫⟫

(Funny enough, I just started working on an old WIP again that's kind of fitting the brief and kind of not... Well, it's basically an angsty s1 pregnancy AU with a twist. But more about this when I've finished this ficlet :) )

I wish you would write a fic where...