#Have an unfinished little potential ficlet

[tiralja]

Shinji has regrets

Shinji has regrets.

Ichigo hadn't known it, hadn't been there when he'd said it, but when the visored stepped up for the battle against Aizen he'd made sure to tell the soutaicho that they where not there for them.

"We are enemies of Aizen, and allies of Ichigo."

Allies of Ichigo. He had belived that. Truly had thought that.

But then Aizen had been beaten and Ichigo had lost his powers and they had been pardoned and finally allowed back home.

Why had he ever though it would be a good idea?

Why had any of them?

Every single visored had taken the hook and stepped right back into Seireitei to become parts of the machine that they all knew had already thrown them out once.

Maybe they thought Ichigo would fare better with his family? Away from all the powerful nonsense spirits dragged him into? Maybe they they really thought it wasn't a big deal? After all Ichigo already had many friends in soul society so it shouldn't really matter if they moved there and had their places back.

Maybe they were just so tired of having to hide away from the place and people they had spent centuries calling home? Blinded by the hope of getting it all back even in some small way.

The soutaitcho had asked him if they were now their allies and he had answered a resounding "No" and as soon as they were allowed back in not a sinle one of them stayed out of Soul Society. Stayed with Ichigo.

Allied with Ichigo his ass.

Once exiled twice shy was something they couldn't avoid noticing.

While every single one of them had returned to Soul Society to take their places as captains and liutenants not one of them could slot back into place as easy as they had hoped.

Gotei 13 is an eclectic bunch full of strong personalities and even stronger hierarchies and rules and after a hundred years spent away they grate on his every nerve.

While they had been in exile they had been banned from soul society, true, but they had also been kept away from the strict regulations and adherence to rules that gotei members seem to obey almost religiously, even if they had seemed to loosen up a little after Ichigo's first influential break into their fortress.

Ichigo had made many influential friends during his rampage and he and his friends had become a literal proof that not every rule has to be always followed to the letter.

But the rules were still there and after a hundred years without they feel like slowly tightening chains around them.

There is also so much to catch up on, so much they had missed, that time just seems to fly away as there is always something else to work on, something else to improve, some new shinigami to whip into shape (and they are all so new and so young in their few hundreds and so so weak and he remembres training a young brat just 15 years old who would have wiped the floor with every single one of them and he grates) places to fix and before he knows it it's been almost a year and he realizes he hasn't heard from Ichigo yet.

The realization is not a pleasant one.

Hirako Shinji is very old and as such his grip on time can be tenuous sometimes, especially when surrounded by other similiarly static people, but he did spend a century around humans so he knows that after a break this long he should have heard something!

True they were instructed to give Ichigo his space for a while, space to heal from his de-powering but it's been almost a year and that has to have been long enough, surely?

Ichigo is not like them. He might have been powerful but at his core his was still human, and one apparently used to rapid progress in things if the stories of him achieving a bankai in mere days were true (and knowing Urahara Kisuke, they most likely were).

In the end it is Mashiro of all people who pushes him to make a move.

"Aww~ I haven't had a break in months! This is so booring~ Wonder how berry-tan is doing right now? He must be so bored too, playing human!"

"Huh!?" Scowls Kensei. His returned captain position with its stressfull resposibilities hadn't been great on his hollow reduced temper. "He's not playing at being human, he is a human, and a damn young one at that. The kid is propably just enjoying his break being normal". Something about the notion doesn't sit well in Shinji and he can see it on the clenced fist that Kensei doesn't fully believe what he's saying either.

"Hee~ but berry-tan was always so fighty! And he got so strong too! No way could normal human life seem anything but boring after that", she sniffs and he knows, they all know she's right, at least partly. By the end there, Ichigo had become overwhelmingly powerful, more than any human or even shinigami could hope to be. That had been the point. The plan. To stick an overpowered godlike fifteen year old against another basically a god, have them fight till the end and get rid of Aizen.

If it also happened to destroy the other superpowered being in the process then, well, wasn't that just convenient.

He grates.

Ichigo was designed by his father, Urahara Kisuke and ironically Aizen Sousuke himself to become just strong enough to face him and win and if he burnt out in the process?

Well even if he's powerless at least he's still alive.

Assumedly. They haven't heard anything from him in months.

[backtothestart02]

FANFIC TAGGING GAME

I got (honorable) tagged by the wonderful @theartofdreaming1- thanks!

1. How many works do you have on AO3? - 321

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

1,322,068 words (at the moment)

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Still writing for The Flash, but every once in a while a new show/movie grabs my fancy and I write a few fics for that.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

An unimpressive bunch but here goes: Muse (456), Replacement Scrunchie (393), Fallen Star (357), Inconvenient Inspiration (343), and Drabbles (277). Muse is a handful of one-shots based solely off spoilers before I saw the eps they were for. Replacement Scrunchie is my sole fic for the TATBILB fandom about Peter & LJ's first date (which was way less impressive than what the sequel movie gave us, WOW). Fallen Star is my most popular westallen fic to date, so that one's actually not too surprising. But both Inconvenient Inspiration and Drabbles are requested (the latter) and spontaneous (the former) brainstorming ficlets and snippets for The Flash/WA. Bo-ring.

5. Do you respond to comments?

Eventually.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Oh, gosh, I have so many unfinished fics that it's hard to remember the complete ones that I finished that didn't end so happy, of which there aren't many. Maybe...Breaking Point though.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

All the others have happy endings. Go read them. Lol.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

When I wrote for another fandom I did, but not really in The Flash fandom, which is nice.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Yep. And uh...descriptive, I guess? I'm def not the best out there, but I do my best and for the most part smut-lovers seem to enjoy.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

I've attempted a couple crossovers, but I haven't completed any or gotten far with them, usually because there wasn't an audience for it.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Yeah, I discovered a whole bunch on another website years ago.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

In the process of it!

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

Stuck on Westallen atm, but I used to write Chair, and I was highly obsessed with them as well.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Oh god, I have SO MANY WIPs. One that I really want to finish but fear I won't though has got to be He's MY Barry Allen. I'm just stuck on what the next chapter will look like, and as of yet no one has come forward with a solution. Lol. The Problem is Tony Woodward is another one like that.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I'd like to think I can hook people into my fics fairly well and drop enough cliffies to keep them coming back for more. But ofc the smut helps too. Most of my fics include at least some smut, even a single scene.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Sometimes I have trouble making a chapter (or a scene for that matter) all that long. I've seen people write like 10k+ for a chap, and unless I'm crazy inspired, roughly 1-3k is what you're getting.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I actually dabbled in this a little bit for a westallen fic where Iris was learning Italian, I think? I did some research and managed to sift in enough for that one-shot, but I can't imagine I'd do it repeatedly or for a multi-chap.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

I believe it was the STAR WARS prequels, but it might've been The Day After Tomorrow.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

It's unfinished, but there's so much untapped potential in my Flashpoint fic. Lots of world-building that's present as it rides the line between canon divergent and AU. Hopefully one day I'll get back to it.

...

As much as I'd love to tag a bunch of people, I can't recall anyone who still writes fic that I follow on here, so I'll just shout out my bestie @simplylove101 who is prob done with writing but may want to answer these questions either way!

[quickspinner]

WIP Wednesday: Poll Edition

This piece wandered into my brain as I was thinking about the "Not your average mermaid" prompt for LBSC Mermay, and here's the thing. I'm undecided where to go from here. I think there's a lot of fun potential, but the idea of starting another potentially large fic when I still have Indelible, Guard My Heart, and Beautiful Dreams hanging out there is giving me pause.

So, beneath the cut there is a snippet and my first ever poll!

Option 1, I could post it like this, clean it up a little bit and let this be just a little prompt fic post. Option 2, I could work on it as a full fic, put together a complete story for it, but I probably wouldn't be finished before MerMay is over and I kind of hate to post it as a first chapter and then have another unfinished fic hanging out until I get to writing the rest of it, so I might just save it until I've got more of it ready to go. Which, let's be real, who knows when that will be. Option 3, I could look at the other mermay prompts and make it a series of ficlets centered around this Luka and Marinette. Sort of the way I did Hey Gorgeous. Although the last two times I said that were for the Hallmark fic and Indelible and they both got way bigger than I expected, so...check out the piece under the cut and let me know what you think. (l will of course do what I think is best and doable in the end, but I want some opinions to take into account here before my brain runs itself in circles.

This…was not how this type of thing was supposed to happen.

Well, it wasn’t supposed to happen at all, because mermaids were supposed to be a myth, a legend, a fantasy. 

But if it could happen, it wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was supposed to be shadowy, fleeting glances. The flip of a tail, a shape passing under the boat. Eerie eyes staring out of the darkness of the sea at night, and then winking out like lanterns. Little glimpses that made you question your own senses and doubt your own sanity before you finally found out the truth.

Mermaids were not supposed to swim up to your boat in broad daylight, and rest their elbows on the swim deck of your boat, tilting their head to look at you with undisguised curiosity. 

Also, mermaids were usually girls. Of course it made sense that if there were such a thing as mermaids, there ought to be such a thing as mermen, and so it made just as much sense for there to be a man’s torso leaning on her boat while his tail swished idly in the water behind him, probably to keep his balance. 

Marinette found that she was doubting her own sanity despite the very clear sight of the merman leaning on her boat, nearly close enough to touch, close enough to see clear, intelligent blue eyes, and short shaggy black hair that shaded blue at the tips, and the sharp line of his jaw and the way water rolled down his tanned skin—why would a mermaid be tanned, was that just his natural skin tone? Shouldn’t he be pale?

Marinette continued to sit there with the water he had splashed up onto the boat soaking into the seat of her shorts, leaning back on her hands where she had fallen, and they just…stared at each other. 

He smiled.

[kaydeefalls]

wip amnesty

While digging through my WIP folder today, I discovered that shortly after Avengers: Endgame came out, I apparently sat down and wrote half of page of a potential Sam/Bucky fic that I then never touched again. I doubt I’ll ever finish it, but what little there is amuses me, so here, have the beginning of a random unfinished ficlet:

Here's the thing that Sam didn't know beforehand:

Bucky Barnes.

That's it. That's the thing.

See, Sam had once (briefly and traumatically) become acquainted with the HYDRA murderbot known as the Winter Soldier, namely when the steering wheel had been unexpectedly and very forcibly detached from the rest of his car, and that wasn't even a particularly notable moment in that whole freeway debacle. His next encounter with the Death Machine Formerly Known As Steve's Best Friend hadn't gone much better. All in all, Sam hadn't exactly been sorry that the dude disappeared after the helicarriers came down.

Somewhat anxious, in a PTSD sort of way, because the Winter Soldier was the sort of individual Sam would prefer to always know the exact location of, lest he randomly show up to destroy Sam's new car in an excitingly improbable way. But not sorry.

A while later, he became acquainted with Sad Hobo Bucky, who was definitely an improvement over the Winter Soldier because, you know, fewer random murder sprees. But one brief, shitty road trip followed by an even shittier battle against Sam's former teammates did not exactly a lasting friendship make. And then Sam went to superhero jail (albeit briefly) and Bucky put himself on ice in Wakanda and, well, that was that.

[angryschnauzer]

What about if ghost mike took a liking to you and when you were getting harassed by some guys he "stepped in"?

Oh wow this one really got away from me! There’s something about Mike that makes me just want to hug him and make everything better. Thank you for this ask!

Warnings: Ghosts, potential assault, Mike saving the day. Canon-fix-it ficlet.

From the moment you moved into the tiny apartment you knew it wasn't going to be your forever home. Strange chills would cross over your skin when you would least expect it, the seemingly nice neighbourhood was far from it with regular arguments and fights breaking out between tenants or people just out on the street, and it got to the point where you didn't leave the apartment at night for what crept unknown in the hallways.

Your thesis was almost done, your final year of your Doctorate on religious texts and the only merit of not leaving the apartment in the evenings meant extra time to study and complete your work. You sat at your desk typing furiously, on a roll with your thoughts and your work when a sudden chill ran up your forearm giving you goosebumps;

"Fuck" you cursed, screwing your eyes shut as you tried to will the train of thought back to your mind, but to no avail. Finally with a sigh you pushed your chair back and stood, deciding to make yourself a hot cocoa.

Warming the milk in a pan on the stove you wrapped your cardigan tighter around your body as you stared out of the window that overlooked the street, before something moved in the periphery of your vision. A young man bending over your laptop, his lips moving as he silently read what you had written. In shock you gasped and turned, but to an empty apartment. Shaking your head you laughed to yourself; you had spent so long writing about spirits you were now seeing them.

Going back to your stove you finished making your drink before returning to your computer, working late into the night now you were re-energised in your mind.

-

Your Professor had been very complimentary of your latest work, and how you had led the Freshman and Sophomore students in theological discussions about spirits and souls, almost as if you had a new understanding of them. 

Continuing to work on your thesis you spent long nights and quiet weekends busy at your computer, but reminded yourself to take a break now and again. One such evening the words hadn't come, so abandoning the screen you’d lit some candles, poured yourself a glass of wine and had curled up on the couch beneath a blanket to read. You were deep in the world of your book when you were aware of your computer screen coming to life, the screensaver ending and your unfinished work on screen. As you looked up you saw him, this time sitting sideways to the desk on your chair where you’d left it. 

He was young, no more than 25, and dressed a little outdated in baggy jeans, hoodie, and a leather jacket, his dark hair curly and trying its best to hang in the mid 2000’s style of curtains. A fear shot through your body, rooting you to the spot and you held your breath; watching waiting… but he continued to read, biting his lip as if deep in thought; he had no idea you’d noticed him. The longer you looked the more real he seemed, no longer transparent but the colours of the apparition deepening.

“I can see you, you know” your voice was quiet yet it startled him, he turned in fright and disappeared right before your eyes. 

Crossing the room you pressed your hand to the chair, stilling it as it span slightly before sitting down, your writer's block now long gone. Your thesis was certainly getting jump started again thanks to your spectral visitor.

-

A week later it was a quiet weekend, no saturday classes, no additional work needed on your thesis until the last few books you’d requested from the campus library were returned. Snow fell outside your window and you stayed curled up in bed, dozing in the quiet morning. 

As the pipes in the building bubbled you finally woke properly, and you saw him, standing in the doorway.

“Don’t be scared” you said quietly, watching as he quietly laughed before raking his hand through his curls;

“Shouldn’t i be saying that to you?”

His voice was quiet, but deeper than you imagined.

“Do you know why you are here?”

He shook his head.

“Are you drawn to something? Did you die here?”

Again he shook his head;

“I can’t remember”

“What do you remember?”

“That my name is Mike” he looked down, almost bashfully; “You realise one tit is hanging out of your top?”

Glancing down you saw your cami had shifted in your sleep and you were now showing far more than you realised, letting out a laugh as you adjusted yourself, but when you looked up he was gone.

Calling out you smiled;

“Thanks for the tip… or should i say tit?”

You heard what could only be described as a chuckle, but he didn’t reappear.

-

Over the following days and weeks, Mike would appear occasionally. Once when you were reaching for something on a high shelf you’d turned to get a box to stand on only to discover the packet on the countertop and him standing next to it with a smile on his face before disappearing again. You became at ease with his presence, your skin chilling as you recognised the signs that he had appeared in the room. He still didn’t talk much but you’d managed to get a few lines of conversation out of him. It almost felt like having a presence to welcome you home, not a pet, but a silent roommate that didn’t bother you because you’d work different shifts.

After one particularly long day on campus, staying late after class to help the Sophomores with their midterms, having to stop for groceries on the way home, it was well past dark before your bus had pulled up outside your apartment building. Juggling your groceries, your backpack, and your keys, you stopped at your mailbox as you could see mail jammed into it, cursing as your cold fingers struggled to work with the tiny key when you heard a cough behind you. Glancing over your shoulder you saw the tall burly figure of a man, and you stepped closer to the mailbox;

“Sorry, won’t be a moment”

“Don’t you worry sweetheart, we can wait…”

You stopped, the fear bubbling up in your throat as you turned and saw that he wasn’t alone, two other men now standing behind him;

“A nice little treat to be found out after dark…”

You turned your back to the mailboxes, pulling close to them as you backed away and the three men started to advance like a pack of wolves, when suddenly another figure appeared in the doorway;

“Mike!” you called out, and the three men turned in surprise.

“Oh, your little boyfriend appears just in time? Don’t you worry about him, he can just watch”

It was then that you heard Mike’s voice, strong and loud in the small hallway;

“Babe, shut your eyes and don’t open them until i say so, ok?” he paused and looked directly at you; “Ok?”

You nodded and screwed your eyes shut, trembling as you hear the three men start towards Mike, but then you could hear them stop;

“What the fuck?”

“HOLY SHIT!”

“RUN, GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!”

A strange gurgling noise came from the end of the hallway and you felt the rush of air as the three men pushed past you. Opening your eyes you gasped when you saw Mike. 

“I said don’t open your eyes!”

“Stop” His voice gurgled as he spoke.

You stepped towards him, the sight almost unbearable but now you understood;

“I can see what happened to you…” you paused; “And i’m not running away”

-

 Stepping in the door of your apartment you juggled the bags and held the door for Mike, before you smiled;

“Do i even need to hold this open for you, or could you just walk straight through it?”

He glanced at you and rolled his eyes, not saying anything.

“I would offer you to get cleaned up, but i have no idea how to clean a ghost up”

You set the groceries on the counter and turned, surprised to see Mike standing close to you, his injuries gone and his face and stomach back to normal;

“Oh!”

“I guess you just had to look away and i reset somehow” he muttered, his body sagging as if exhausted.

“This may sound strange, but do you need to rest? I would imagine what you did took a lot of energy…”

“I don’t like to sleep… the memories come back when i do…”

“Why don’t i rest with you?”

Reaching out you managed to grasp his hand, gently leading him to your bedroom and watching as he lay back against the soft covers, a tired smile on his face as he watched you climb in beside him;

“When i was alive it was never this easy to get a girl into bed with me” he murmured, his eyes drooping. 

“Just rest Mike, i’ll be right beside you… i’ll protect you the same way you protected me”

Leaning forwards you brushed your lips to his, and it felt like wet sand pulling away from you as the tide pulled back to sea. Resting your head on the pillow you felt your own eyes grow heavy, and as you watched Mike fall asleep the same happened to you.

-

Rain hit the window as you slowly woke, the unfamiliar feeling of a warm presence beside you in bed startling you as you sat bolt upright, looking on in shock as Mike slept peacefully beside you. His chest would rise and fall with each breath, and with a shaking hand you reached out and rested your palm against him and could feel the warmth of his body. Eyes wide in wonder you reached to his neck, pressing two fingers to the side and you felt the steady and strong beat of his heart. 

He woke with a gasp, inhaling as if he had been winded and sat up, his eyes wide as he grasped your hand in his own;

“How are you touching me?”

“Y-you’re real” He looked down, watching as your hand pressed against his chest; “and you’re alive”

You leapt at him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as you straddled his lap, laughing with tears of joy starting to spill down your cheeks before finally pulling back, your mouths so close you could feel the others breath hot on your skin.

“When i was alive… i mean before… i was an ass”

You shrugged;

“Most dudes in their 20’s are”

“And i thought i was god’s gift to women too, but was far from it”

“How about we leave the opinions of gods to the one of us that is the Theological major? As whatever happened here, we have someone to thank and it certainly isn’t Earth bound”

He smiled, and for the first time you noticed that in the blue of his eyes there was a tiny spec of brown. His voice was quiet;

“Can I kiss you?”

Nodding you edged forwards, the touch of his lips this time was soft and warm, and as the kiss deepened the two of you slowly fell back onto the bed, your bodies warm against each others as clothing was shed and bodies were explored.

Mike had a lot to catch up on, twenty years after life had ended for him you were now there to help him start it back up again.

[sezja]

Okay so

I now have... at least three long-fic WIPs planned (with one of them half-written in rough draft form, but it is rough, and in need of what amounts to a complete rewrite at this point), with Febuwhump coming up right around the corner. So! The plan is to work on them in order:

1. Febuwhump. Get that knocked out in much the same way all of my ficlets are here - knocked out one-per-day, posted without much editing, just to keep the creative juices flowing.

2. The "Heavensward Quests Missing Scenes" fic, covering... well, the HW quests, featuring all the little things that happened while the WoL was off doing other things. This is the one I have mostly written, but I don't like how it turned out in retrospect; my efforts to avoid rewriting scenes in the quests kind of resulted in those scenes and events feeling detached and vague. I also originally kept the WoL themself vague and nondescript, and ultimately I feel like that was a disservice to the story; I'll be reworking it to feature @lesenbyan's Eve, consistent with all of my other bard boys works. I think it'll amount to a more vibrant story, but it does mean I need to rewrite the whole thing. I'll work on this second, once Febuwhump is done - since most of the groundwork is down, so to speak, it should be easy enough to hammer it all out.

3. The "Endwalker AU" fic. So it turns out (thank you @bearfully for pointing this out to me) that if you don't actually do the HW BRD quests before Endwalker, the Ilsabard contingent is the mission Sanson's sent on to prove a bard's worth? And that's when he meets Guydelot? Oh man, that's potential. Add to that the constant "song of oblivion" motif Meteion keeps bringing up, and... well. This I must explore, in an AU where the bard boys join the final fight at the end of the universe. This one's shaping up to be good, with the two of them learning to like each other with the stakes a lot higher than they were in the HW quests. I'm thinking I'll tackle this one third.

4. The Amnesia fic. AU where Guydelot takes a serious head wound and winds up losing a chunk of his memory - specifically, the last thing he remembers is leaving for Ishgard to find the Ballad of Oblivion. Imagine his shock when he learns that happened over fifteen years ago, and the pompous prat he just met and loathes is supposedly a dear friend... and perhaps more. This fic will explore him picking up the pieces of a life he doesn't remember, trying to come to terms with who he is and all that he's missed, while Sanson prays desperately that he'll remember it all soon. This one's near and dear to my heart and lives rent-free in my head these days, but I am admittedly kind of sitting on it for now to get a better idea of what the world might look like post-Endwalker before I start trying to write something in the future, which is why it's last on the priority list. But I will probably be poking at it constantly in the background.

And that's the road map for the next few months probably. Fic-a-days will probably slow down significantly after Febuwhump as I turn my attention to lengthier, more focus-intensive projects, but rest assured I Am Writing Things. I probably won't post fics until they're complete (I have a... history, shall we say, of lengthy unfinished projects, and I don't want another one on the list), but I might post previews here if I like 'em.

[miraimisu]

WIP Tag Game!

Tagged by @sixtyfourk, SORRY FOR GETTING TO THIS SO LATE FHVGJDJKLKS

Rules: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them and then post a little snippet of it or tell them something about it! and then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

All of these are WIPs I have either pushed aside because I lost some interest (my interests kind of stack and I usually only scream about the top stackees.............) or things I am working on right now, though I often only work in one WIP at a time :') I cannot focus on more or else............ PANIC

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Collection - Sharleyn - fics: very self-explainatory, a place where I'm writing all my individual ficlets that I come up with as I replay xeno. As of now it has 30+ chapters and it's growing steadily :')

DARKACADEMIA: a rindea DarkAcademia!AU that I wanted to write a while back but I've since lost motivation for, even though it was....... a very cool idea ngl LMAO, maybe Brilliant Lights will restore my motivation for BD in general, who knows

MagicalStarsign!AU: this one is for lonashipping! I planned on writing an AU for my fave videogame of all time, Magical Starsign, but it sunk a little halfway into writing (aka 15 chapters into the multi), I might post it one day even if it's not finished, who knows. It had lots of magic and a nice plot I think? Lots of Lusamine and Moon parallels. Really debated to post it or not

LAYTON RETCON SERIES: aka the Origins of Clive + buildup to Lost Future fic that I................ have a dear love for and I'm sure I could write the moment I replay the series, which I will eventually! I talked about it on Tumblr as Revenge is Paved with Insidious Intentions and I love this title sm

The monsters under my bed that took you away: I didn't remember this wip at all LMAO but it's a freylas fic for Rune Factory 4! Kind of a 'Frey gets in danger and Dylas is livid situation', it looks fun LMAO

ROOM 404: a Hotel Del Luna AU for lonashipping that didn't set sail bc my interest on the original source was intense yet fleeting sadly hhfujdkis

You Got Mail!: a Story of Seasons lonashipping AU that never saw the light because... things happened, not because I lost interest per see. I was having fun with it until I didn't, sadly ;;;;; but I wrote a LOT about this one, I could post it as an unfinished work!

The Time Hula Hoop: probs a dummy title bc this is too silly to be a proper title FGHJKL but it's a time travel lonashipping AU that I stopped writing because REASONS, but it had lots of whump potential I was never able to achieve alas ;;;

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Tagging: @aurantia-ignis, @sad-goomy, @artpharos, @pkmntrashcan, @izupie, @komatsujo and @scandiyatt (I don't know who else to tag so IF YOU WANNA DO THIS DO IT AND SAY I TAGGED YOU <3)

[ariddletobesolved]

Denial

Prompt by @bloodypriestess :

Elsa doesn’t want Hans to send her flowers. She wants him to send himself.

Note: I have this ficlet unfinished for over a week, and I just got the motivation to finish it. Sorry if it doesn't have that much Helsa moments, and mostly Elsa is trying to deny her feelings. Enjoy! Also, send me prompts if you like to.

Helsa in a Modern Office AU.

—

“Dearest Elsa,” Anna read aloud.

“Wishing you a speedy recovery. I am so sorry about what happened, I wish we weren’t fighting that night so I could drive you home. I heard heather is your favourite flower, so I send you this. I hope you accept my most sincere apology. Yours truly, Hans W.”

By the time her little sister put down the card, Elsa let out a sigh, fingers massaging her temple. She could feel a pair of eyes observing her closely, bearing something like confusion with a hint of amusement. Deep down, she thought Anna would walk away and leave her alone (does she not have a date to attend?), but much to her surprise, she flopped down on the bed, facing her.

“So, when are you going to tell me about this ‘Yours truly, Hans W’ fella?”

Elsa didn’t have to look up to see the smirk on her sister’s face. She knew Anna wouldn’t drop the subject that easily. The younger sister had an interest in anything with a potential romance, but no such a thing was going on between Elsa and Hans, right? Slowly turning to the nightstand, her blue eyes caught a glimpse of a bouquet of her favourite flower and a card tucked into a baby blue envelope.

I hope you accept my most sincere apology.

She rolled her eyes in annoyance. If anything, the apology was anything but.

“Well, he seems like a nice guy,” Anna stated after a while, and Elsa glared in return.

“Not even close, Anna. He is,” Elsa paused, trying to find a proper word to describe him. The mental image of an auburn haired man with his signature smirk on his face was slowly formed at the back of her head, and she quickly shook her head at that thought. 

“He is annoying.”

If she wanted to be honest, of all the words she could use to describe Hans Westergaard, ‘annoying’ was nowhere near the top five. Charming, irritating, maybe smug—she should stop. With a frown, her gaze landed on her bandaged foot that was now resting on a small pillow. If it wasn’t for her stubbornness—no, their argument (that brought up the headstrong side of her), maybe she wouldn’t have had ran home in heels and ended up spraining her ankle.

Augh, why did he have to make such a move?

“Sure.” There was a disbelief in her tone.

Hearing her sister’s reply, Elsa scoffed. “You don’t know him, Anna.”

“You’re right, I don’t. But there must be something about him that makes you act like this.” Anna shrugged, her turquoise eyes narrowed slightly as she remembered something. “Wait, he doesn’t happen to be your date from two nights ago, does he?”

“For the fourth time, Anna, it wasn’t a date.”

“Yeah, and Kristoff and I are just friends.” The younger sister rolled her eyes. “He freaking kissed you, Elsa!”

“Yes.”

“And then you got mad at him for making such a bold move.”

There was a beat, before she admitted, “Yes.”

“Then you ran all the way home until you sprained your ankle.”

“Yes, but it was for a good reason. ”

Anna let out a chuckle, shaking her head. The look of her face was telling her that Anna was amused. “I would say it was very stupid.”

Elsa began to open her mouth to protest when Anna began to stand up. “You know what, Elsa, from what you have told me, it seems like you hold a grudge against him for whatever reasons I don’t understand, is it because you were competing for the same position? But your reaction says it all. If I don’t know any better, Elsa, you’re in denial.”

“What?” Eyebrows knitted, the blonde was taken aback by such a bold statement.

“I was just saying, sister dearest.” Anna leaned in to press a kiss on her sister’s temple. “Now, I’m gonna get ready for my date with Kris, okay? Maybe when you’re alone, you will be able to think clearly.”

Elsa didn’t way a word, even after Anna closed the door with a thud, leaving her in total silence. She leaned back against her pillow, arms crossing over her chest. Her mind wandered back to what happened that night, how a regular night out did not end well after they shared their—passionate—first kiss. 

WIth her eyes closed, she recalled the feeling of his lips against hers, and upon the thought, there was a familiar warmth residing in her stomach. Her heart beat a little faster at the memory, just like that night when she found herself pressed against the wall at the back of the pub with his hands all over her body. Her blue eyes fluttered open once she realised what happened. Oh, no. Has she been thinking about Hans’ kiss?

As much as she didn’t want to admit out loud, Elsa enjoyed his kiss; she liked it and she couldn’t ignore the warmth spreading all over her body. She couldn’t want him, she shouldn’t. Hans Westergaard is the biggest arsehole, her rival from work. But after working for quite sometime, Elsa accidentally learned that behind the persona, Hans actually had another side nobody got to witness. The tender way of him talking to his mum, when she overheard him on the phone, did stun her and for a moment, it made her think that perhaps Hans wasn’t that bad. But it went down the drain once he was back to his irritating self.

You’re in denial.

Anna’s words echoed in the back of her mind, and before she knew it, she found herself staring back at her favourite flower in a bouquet that arrived in her doorstep that morning. The annoyance returned. Perhaps she was secretly hoping that it was him, instead of a courier, that was sending her flowers. Was that one of the reasons behind her irritation? She had no idea.

Reaching for her phone, she clicked on the messenger app. She scrolled for a bit and saw his name. Without waiting for long, she began to type.

Westergaard, if you want to offer a sincere apology, at least do it properly. Don’t send me flowers and a card - Elsa was hesitating for a while, debating whether she should carry on or not - send yourself and say it in person.

Once the text was sent, the blonde waited patiently. It didn’t take long until a new message popped up to her home screen.

I’m on my way ;)

Upon seeing the text, Elsa was having a hard time to bite back a smile.

—

I hope you like this ficlet. Have a great weekend! ❤

[goldeneyedgirl]

TwiFicMas2020 Day 2: Kidfic

Happy Day 2! Nothing interesting to say today, just on with the offering.

This was written as part of an anthology entitled ‘Five Ways Alice & Jasper Never Met’, which remains unfinished *gestures at WIP list*. After the messed up life I gave the Whitlocks in Against A Wall, I decided I should probably show the family having a slightly happier life. I feel like there’s probably the potential of a series of ficlets in this, showing the pair growing up together, but we’ll see.

Alice being adopted by teacher-Esme and doctor-Carlisle was definitely influenced by the sweetest fic, A Family For Alice by kr2009.

—

Louise Whitlock stacked the leftover pizza in the fridge, long since ready for bed. It had been a very long day. It had been a very long year.

Juggling four kids and a full-time job was exhausting in ways Louise had never considered. The errands list on the fridge was already two pages long; and that didn’t include the other lists on her phone, in her date-book, and doodled on the whiteboard next to the fridge.

It had been over twelve months since she had decided that, after her husband’s sudden death, she couldn’t stay in Texas. She needed a fresh start. And so did her kids. At first, she had just planned to stay in the south, find some small town with a hospital that needed a nurse. Far away enough to get some space, but close enough to be familiar. And be near friends and family.

She didn’t even know why she applied to a hospital in a tiny Pacific Northwest town, but it had seemed like a good idea at the time. Maybe facing down bills she couldn’t comfortably pay, living in a house that was haunted with memories of her husband, she had applied. It was the furthest place she could imagine from home, without leaving the country.  

And then she got the job, and there was really no good reason to turn down the offer, especially when they offered to cover some moving expenses. She had wanted a fresh start, after all.

Looking up Forks to try and convince her kids of how wonderful the move would be had been a shock to all of them. Her three girls had been horrified – no cinema, no malls, very few sporting teams; the rainiest place is the entire country, and the house that Louise had chosen, thinking it was cute, suddenly looked small and cramped when she saw it through her daughters’ eyes. Ten-year-old Lydia had freaked out at leaving her grandparents and her cousins behind; twelve-year-old Ava threw screaming fits about leaving behind their father’s grave. And Fern did nothing but whine about how boring Forks would be.

And then there was Jasper. Jasper had been in the car with Will when it crashed, leaving her baby boy covered in nasty scars. He had only been four, a little ray of sunshine who was always giggling. But afterwards, he was so sad and angry and quiet. He just didn’t talk much. Didn’t smile. It was almost as if she’d lost her baby boy in that accident at the same time. He just shrugged at Louise’s attempt to discuss their move to Forks, staring down at his Lego model.

It had been completely miserable. After she finally got the kids to understand that it was happening, and nothing they could say would change Louise’s mind, she had to deal with her extended friends and family trying to convince her not to leave. Will’s parents had actually threatened legal action to keep their grandkids in the state; by the time the house was sold, Louise wasn’t entirely sure they were even speaking to her.

The truth was that she had no idea if it was a good plan. No one seemed happy or positive about her plan; no one seemed to want to understand why they had to go. Even Louise was conflicted - was this her way of healing, of embracing a new normal and their new reality, or was she running away?

But a year later, looking back, she knew she’d done the right thing - just by looking at her son.

They had arrived in Forks on a rainy day – water falling from the sky in sheets – and Louise then spent a hellish week unpacking, trying to calm down three girls who thought Forks was worse than prison, and getting all four of the kids registered and ready for school before she started at the hospital. It was exhausting and frustrating in new ways – proper grocery shops involved driving to the next town over, since Forks only boasted a mini-mart; despite her best efforts, Ava and Jasper both needed new weather-appropriate clothing, whilst Lydia and Fern pitched fits about their hand-me-downs.

And the house was far from perfect - the carpet was filthy, the bathroom tiles were chipped and loose, Fern’s bedroom window had been broken in a storm, and the kitchen ceiling leaked. It was enough to make Louise to actually contemplate calling her mother for the money to drag the kids back to Texas. This wasn’t what she had signed up for.

But finally, the first day of school – and work – dawned. And it was chaos - Ava couldn’t find her backpack, Lydia wouldn’t get out of bed, and Fern was hysterical about starting at a new school. Jasper was just silent and solemn in front of his cereal, whilst Louise tried to remember where she’d left her own paperwork.

But miraculously, they made it out of the house on time. Forks had a combination Middle-Elementary school, so it was only one drop-off – at least for the next couple of years. And it looked like a nice school - lots of green space for the kids to run when it wasn’t raining, cheery murals on the walls, and many happy-sounding kids crowding the parking lot. That was always a good sign.

Ava, Lydia and Fern loudly protested their mother escorting them into their classrooms, and headed off to class with their assigned guides, all three of them looking like soldiers bracing for battle.

But Jasper was still glued to her side, staring blankly ahead. It was only because she knew her boy well that Louise noticed the nervous way he tugged at his hoodie as they headed towards the kindergarten building.

The kindergarteners were scattered throughout their gated playground – a sea of giggling, happy faces. One particularly pretty little blonde girl was perched at the highest point of the climbing frame – pink hair ribbons, pink Mary-Janes, even her little pink jeans had ruffles on them – smirking at the boys below, trying to climb up with her, but were struggling to find the right footholds. Two other little girls were sitting on the swings, whilst a redheaded boy lingered in the background, clearly trying to join in their conversation.

Kickball games, chase games, squealing and laughing and yelling: it was happy five-year-old chaos.

Jasper was hanging back, looking concerned, his fingers twisted through Louise’s belt loops. She’d had to call him back on his very first day of school last semester to say good-bye; Peter and Charlotte had been sitting alone, and he’d raced up to them, so eager for friends he’d left without saying good bye or even taking his backpack.

And now he was here, hiding behind her and pleading with his eyes not to leave him.  

Her poor baby.

“We have free play until nine o clock, unless it’s raining,” the teacher, a Ms Yorkie said sweetly, noticing Jasper’s reluctance. “Kick-ball, and hopscotch, and climbing, and tag.” She looked around the playground, and pointed at the climbing frame – a solid looking boy was sitting on the railings below the pink clad girl, laughing. “There’s Emmett and Rosalie. They’re very nice, would you like to meet them?”

Jasper shook his head and buried his face against Louise’s hip.

Miss Yorkie exchanged a look with Louise – it was the universal look of a kindergarten teacher warning that the separation would be ugly, but it would have to happen – the faster it happened, the better it would be for everyone.

“Jasper-”

“Hello!”

Louise turned around at the interruption to see a tiny little girl standing behind her. She looked like a little doll, with black hair cut in a bob, with an enormous red bow in her hair, a red dress over tights, and a pair of well-loved mary-janes.

She was beaming at Jasper, and held out her hand. “I’m Alice. Come and play.”

Jasper stared at her.

Louise didn’t expect Jasper to respond at all, to dismiss or outright ignore the invitation. Ms Yorkie was smiling at the little girl – Alice – who seemed to be bouncing with either energy or excitement.

Jasper stared at Alice for a moment, before stepping out from behind Louise, and taking Alice’s hand.

“D’you like monkey bars?” Alice asked as she dragged Jasper after her. “I like monkey bars.”

Louise watched as Jasper shed his backpack, and joined Alice, never looking back. She could see the little girl still talking to her son.

“He’ll be just fine,” Ms Yorkie said to her. “Alice will take care of him.”

Louise nodded and thanked the teacher, turning to leave.

As she slipped out the gate, she heard a squeal of laughter, and looked back to see Jasper holding little Alice around her legs so she could reach the monkey bars and swing all the way to the other side. Alice was giggling so hard she could barely grip the rails, and Jasper had a tiny smile on his face.

And that was enough for Louise.

--

It didn’t take long for Louise to learn about little Alice, and her family. Her full name was Mary-Alice Cullen, and she was the adoptive daughter of the local surgeon and his wife - who was an English teacher for the middle school students. They lived just outside town, and every afternoon, Alice would dash out the gates and into the middle school to find her mother.

It was easy to pick Alice in a crowd – not only did she wear bright colours, she always wore an enormous bow in her hair; it was almost like a satellite. Having seen how quickly the little girl could move, Louise had to wonder if the largeness of the hair accessories, and brightness of the clothing wasn’t completely intentional.

And where Alice went, so went Jasper.

Every single morning, Alice would be waiting faithfully at the kindergarten gates for Jasper; on the rainiest days, Ms Yorkie had to retrieve her several times from standing out in her raincoat and gumboots – a nearly blinding pink and yellow ensemble. And every time she spotted Jasper, she’d bounce on her toes, clapping and beaming with happiness. Louise couldn’t help wondering if Alice Cullen was the reason the kindergarten was enclosed with a fence.

Alice’s friendship with Jasper brought good things to all of them. Alice had had her mother call up Louise that very first weekend Jasper was in school, with an invitation for Louise, Jasper, and the girls to join them for a weekend barbecue they were hosting.

Esme Cullen was a sweet and gentle woman, who clearly doted on her daughter. The Cullens had the most magnificent house, with a garden that spilled into the forest. Esme had taken the opportunity to invite some other local families, especially those with children the same as Louise’s. It had been nice to talk to other adults, ones that didn’t know her whole story from birth for once in her life. Who didn’t look at her and the kids, and have pity written all over their faces.

And that’s how they settled into Forks. It was strange, how Alice brought Jasper back to life, dragged them all into the fabric of Forks. They became inseparable; when Jasper started soccer, Alice joined the team too, complete with pink cleats and enormous hair ribbons printed with tiny soccer balls. When Alice broke her arm falling off the monkey bars, Jasper had spent the entire weekend sitting at the end of her bed, glaring at any doctor or nurse who caused her pain or scared her. Jasper joined the Cullen family for at two vacations – one camping trip, one beach holiday. On the nights when Louise pulled the night shift, it was Dr and Mrs Cullen who had all four of the Whitlock children to stay, so Louise didn’t have to pay for an overnight babysitter.

It didn’t take long for Alice’s other friends to warm to Jasper either; Alice’s closest female friend was a girl named Rosalie Hale, whom Louise recognised as the pink-clad girl from the first day. A plain-spoken but beautiful girl, Rose was always clad in shades of pink, and seemed to be more of a set-piece for her parents than a child. She was obsessed with Jasper’s car racing set, and more than one rainy Sunday ended with both Rosalie and Jasper sprawled on the carpet, racing those remote-controlled cars.

Emmett McCarty was another of Alice’s friends – a tall, solid boy who seemed to always be laughing – who marched up to Jasper one day, introduced himself, and that was that. The middle child of half a dozen kids, Emmett was full of mischief and fun. The boys had begun construction of a club house in the forest just outside the Whitlock’s back fence, a hopeful lean-to that Louise didn’t think would last longer than the first bad wind. For a moment, she was sad that Will wasn’t there to help Jasper build a proper treehouse or clubhouse for the backyard. But, eventually, she realised that it wasn’t the actual clubhouse the boys wanted; it was the building and planning they had fun with.

There were other two that hovered on the fringes of their group - Isabella Swan and Edward Masen. They were similar – both quiet, awkward, and fairly disinterested in the games the others would engage in, but would tag along. Louise felt sorry for them – Isabella’s mother had divorced her father and left town before the Whitlocks had arrived in Forks, and the little girl seemed to be taking it hard. Edward’s parents were both older, and didn’t seem to understand how little boys were supposed to act, discouraging loud, rowdy games, or sport, and preferring for him to spend his time practicing the piano or reading quietly.

But Alice welcomed them, and so the others did too; though Louise noticed Jasper wasn’t thrilled with Alice lavishing her attention on Edward. The only one less thrilled with the addition of Edward was Rosalie; the two of them fought like cats and dogs, and the Cullens and Louise both had stories of trying to break up whatever argument they had gotten into. Even Louise’s own daughters didn’t have such loud, angry arguments with each other that Rosalie and Edward had.

Everyone was happier in Forks. At ballet practice, Lydia had met twin girls from the Quileute reservation – Rebecca and Rachel – and the three of them were as thick as thieves. Ava had a friend in a girl called Tanya, and Fern had fallen in with a pair of cousins called Leah and Emily. Most weekends and vacations, Louise’s house was overflowing with children, and she couldn’t say that she didn’t enjoy it.  

Her kids were happy. That was all she really wanted from the move in the first place.

Tonight, there were nine children under her roof; nine kids who had tumbled into the kitchen to wolf down pizza and soda, and were now tucked in their bedrooms. She knew that Ava and Tanya were up in Ava’s room, giving each other make-overs, and that Lydia and the twins were in the middle of one of their huge and incredibly messy art projects – Lydia’s bedroom usually looked like a giant art and craft project, with glitter and paint everywhere. And Leah and Fern would play elaborate games with their Barbie dolls until they passed out. The girls knew the rules: ‘bedtime’ just meant ‘quiet games in their bedrooms’ during sleepovers. Louise wouldn’t enforce sleep unless they woke her up.

And then there were the other two.  

Louise paused to look into the living room, the television still flickering some cartoon. Two little figures were sprawled out on sleeping bags – one bright blue, one sparkly pink – on the floor. They were almost sharing a pillow; one of Alice’s arms thrown over Jasper’s chest, clad in the pinkest, most ruffled nightgown Louise had ever seen. Jasper’s plush dog was tucked under one arm, and Alice’s rag doll was squished between them.

It didn’t matter how many times they begged to be able to stay up late - watching movies or television, or playing one of their elaborate games with action figures – they always fell asleep long before they planned to.  

Snapping off the television and the lights, Louise smiled to herself. She remembered her own mother’s stories about her and Will. How inseparable they had been as children - there was always a place at the dinner table for both of them, that it was perfectly normal for Will to spend the night in the bunk below hers. Everyone had warned her parents their friendship would fizzle out in middle and high school.

But it hadn’t. It never would have. Will Whitlock had been her best friend for two decades before he became her husband, and she never forgot that. It might even have been the part of him she missed the most. There was only one thing that could have broken them apart – Will not paying attention to the road and dying in a head-on collision. And only one thing had helped Louise keep it together - their beautiful children.

Maybe it was just a pretty thought; that Alice and Jasper would follow in hers and Will’s footsteps – childhood, the teen years, high school and college, a wedding and a family. That they’d forget all about the time before they met, because they were so in tune that it was strange to think of a time they weren’t friends. Maybe they wouldn’t fall in love; maybe they’d just be crazy-best-friends for life, dragging spouses on vacations to visit, an endless stream of emails and Skype calls. Or even fall out and drift apart – a name in a yearbook, and a hazy memory.  

But Louise thought about all the little things – the text messages Mrs Cullen sent her to warn Jasper when Alice was sick on school days; Jasper saving the green lollipops he got from the businesses around town, because Alice liked the green ones the best. Alice tackle-hugging him whenever a weekend went by without them seeing each other. Alice beating up the boy who made fun of Jasper’s scars, her knees and palms skinned and bloody as she defended herself to the teacher, Jasper holding her backpack and looking stunned.

Louise knew that loyalty.

It might not turn out to be anything, but she was definitely betting on Alice Cullen being by her son’s side forever.

[sternenblumen]

@vgriffindor​ For some reason, I can’t find/access the original recs post, so here are some more Porthos fic recs!

As You’re There by Anonymous The Inseparables face the potentiality of separation. Hope takes its toll. (Porthos whump, unfinished)

Knife to a Musket Fight by PercyByssheShelley Porthos checks in on Constance after the events of the finale.

A Sudden Turn by tinadp Porthos suddenly becomes ill, his brothers strive to save him.

The Weight of Your Coffin/Dyscrasia by MDJensen Aramis is dead. Well, he isn't, but that doesn't make things any easier. Aramis’ death was faked, but the grief that his friends felt was not. Now he’s back, and the boys have to cope with the emotional fallout. One in particular copes a little less well. (Both slightly more d’Artagnan-centric but Porthos is definitely very central! Also, it does not have a MCD tag but warning for grief/dealing with an (assumed) death and also heavy conflicts between the Inseparables - and I know it’s an issue for some regarding Porthamis, so warning for a scene where Porthos lashes out at Aramis, and it gets physical.)

Three Hugs Porthos Gave and One He Received by MDJensen Everybody needs a hug sometimes.

(The author has more Porthos-centric fic, and even if he’s not in the spotlight, he plays an important role. She writes a lot of QPP with Porthos :).)

The Longest Night by gogirl212 Wounded and on the run, the musketeers seek shelter in a dark place on the longest night of the year.  An entry for the Fete des Mousqetaires January competition with the theme "Light."

Senseless by gogirl212 Four times a musketeer lost one of his senses and one time one of them wished he had. A series of short h/c ficlets in response to the July/August fete des Mousquetaires challenge with the theme “Missing”. (First chapter is Porthos.)

And finally: I’ve written a few Porthos fics myself if I may link them, too 😶?

Bad Luck Porthos rarely had bad luck at the card table. But when he hit a streak of really bad luck, it was only the beginning ...

Soon, the other three Inseparables were desperately searching for their missing friend while he did his best to get back to them.

Four Long Years It's been four long years, and just going back to how things have been is impossible. Porthos and Aramis talk. At least a bit.

[vivilove-jonsa]

How about "I missed you, I thought I wouldn't see you again"

Thank you @castalya for the dialogue prompt and sorry it’s taken me a bit.  I’m getting to these as I can and when inspiration strikes :)

This is Part 2 of my earlier King Jon and Alayne ficlet you can read here 

***

An unexpected kingship had had him preoccupied not to mention the potentially unwinnable war for humanity that looms.  Half the lords and ladies present had snickered behind their hands as he’d spoken.  The other half hadn’t bothered to hide their amusement.

Admittedly, it is fantastical sounding but do they truly believe a newly appointed king would have journeyed so far only to tell them bedtime stories their wet nurses might’ve frightened them with as babes?  

The entire time he’d been speaking, he’d been chiding himself for leaving the North at such a crucial time to court these fools and would-be allies who still thought their game of thrones was more important than this war.  He’d grown sullen and angry and wondered if perhaps he was the fool for coming by the time the talk concluded.  

So, no…he’d not paid much attention to Lord Baelish’s bastard daughter in the hall upon his arrival.  Alright, he had allowed his eyes to sweep over her a time or two as she’d been studying him as well.  A pretty face and blue eyes like summer skies, he’d heard Alayne Stone was a beauty.  But he’d told himself he had no time for distractions.

But then, he finds himself distracted all the same.

He wakes the morning after his arrival unsettled and downhearted from dreams of the past, dreams from his boyhood.  Sweet dreams from a far sweeter time though he’d not fully appreciated it then.  Being the bastard son of Ned Stark had not been easy but he’s come to realize how much better he had it than most.  

He’d recalled the people he loved most in his dreams though he fears they are all lost to him now.  They are still his family even if he’s not Ned Stark’s son and even if his half-brothers and sisters are actually his cousins.  

The halls of Winterfell feel empty without the people who had made it his home but he’d rather be there than here in the Eyrie for the next moon.

Suddenly feeling unable to breathe in the chambers he was given, Jon throws on his clothes and cloak and seeks the outdoors.  He finds his way through this unusual castle to its unusual godswood, a godswood with no heart tree nor any proper trees.  

And it’s there his distraction awaits in the person of Alayne Stone.  

Fresh snow has fallen during the night.  It’s still falling though lightly and he watches the girl wrapped up in her cloak and squatted down on the ground molding a castle of her own, a castle made of snow.  

She doesn’t see him. She’s so intent on her task.  He admires the walls and rounded tower she’s just erected but he’s soon admiring her more.  She is truly a beauty and there’s a sweetness in her expression when she’s here and thinks herself alone that touches his heart.  

Her cheeks are growing redder along with the tip of her nose.  He’d like to warm her though he shouldn’t.  A strand of dark brown hair is hanging loose from the hood of her cloak. It’s wet from the snow but long and lush looking.  Her eyes are bright with the reflection of the snow but he thinks they might be brightened from her task even more.  

Her pink tongue is poking out between her white teeth as she concentrates on the next tower.  It’s rather endearing.  The tower’s a bit lopsided, almost broken.  Is that intended?  It’s hard to tell when it’s only made of snow.

“Alayne, whatever are you doing?” an unctuous voice says from somewhere out of sight.  “It’s terribly cold out.”

“The cold doesn’t bother me.”

“Well, I need you to come inside.  I have tasks for you beyond building snow castles, sweetling.”  

The girl rolls her eyes to herself and rises, wiping off her hands and leaving her castle unfinished. “Yes, Father,” she says with one last look of regret at her creation.  

She never sees Jon watching her and he keeps his silence.  He’d finish her castle for her if he could but he does not know what she dreams of.  He only sees a partially built Winterfell but that could not be.  

Alone in the godswood with no gods, he’s left with a burning desire to see her again.

I shouldn’t though.

It would be unwise to become enchanted with this girl.  He’s been thoroughly warned to watch himself when it comes to Lord Baelish and that likely goes for his daughter as well.

Unfortunately, becoming enchanted by her is exactly what happens.  

She’s never near him. Not since that first day when he’d arrived has she been within twenty paces of him.  It frustrates him and makes him hungry for any little glimpse of her.

In the hall during meals, she’s placed nearer the salt.  Does Littlefinger always have her sit there?  She seems well respected by the inhabitants of the Eyrie from what he’s managed to learn. Surely, she sits by her father’s side ordinarily.  Jon had always dined with his family during feasts except for that one feast, the one attended by a king.  Is that why Lord Baelish has her there?  Does he fear her presence might offend him as he was told Lady Stark feared his presence might offend King Robert and Queen Cersei?  

Looking back, he wonders if that was truly Lady Catelyn’s concern or if it was Lord Stark who did not wish for Robert to take too much notice of Rhaegar’s secret son.  And why does that leave him with a strange sense of disquiet with regards to Alayne?

Still, he feels a kinship with the girl, recalling what it was like growing up as a bastard amongst the high born, the true born.  He wishes he could speak with her.  He wishes to hold her hand.  He shouldn’t.

Alayne.  Her name echoes in his head as he seeks his rest a few nights later.  

He should not think on her so but today he’d missed seeing her in the hall when he’d broke his fast. Luck was with him though for he’d stumbled across her in the library soon after.  He may have been looking for her.  He may have made inquiries.  He was only curious.

She didn’t see him and perhaps part of him is afraid of facing her, afraid of actually making a connection of sorts, afraid he’ll lose his heart to her if he does.

So once more, like a mischievous boy eavesdropping on something that isn’t his business, he’d watched from a hidden spot as she’d sat with a forgotten book by her side, hugged her knees to her chest and started to sing.  Her singing…it had been both bitter and sweet.  Her voice was lovely and true but the song had made him melancholic.  It had brought Ygritte to mind in a way but that wasn’t entirely it.  It had tugged at some memory, something deep down struggling to make itself known.  What was this?

And once more, just when he’d thought perhaps he would reveal himself and speak with her, she’d been called away by her wretched father.  Jon hadn’t liked the way the man had stroked the girl’s cheek and whispered in her ear.  She’d hurried away as if she’d been chastened from her father and Jon’s sword hand had been clenched in anger as he’d strode out of the library soon afterwards.  What was it about Littlefinger and his daughter that made him so uncomfortable?  

She’s bewitched him without even knowing it.  He must control this.  He cannot allow himself to become besotted with some girl when he’s here for a very specific purpose.  

But a few nights later, his resolved is tested most painfully.  

He’d thought he’d had her figured out.  He’d feared her father had sent her to seduce him for whatever reason.  He’d thought to teach her a lesson and show her the King in the North was not to be trifled with and no fool.

But I am a fool.  

“Sansa?”  

He’s far too astonished by the revelation to pay much mind to the hot soup soaking through his breeches.  Her laughter after she’d doused him had stirred a dozen distant memories and at last his mind had finally puzzled out why.  

And a moment ago, he’d been tempted beyond measure to bed Littlefinger’s bastard daughter despite knowing what a horrible idea that would be strategically speaking.  

Gods, so tempted.

But she’s not Littlefinger’s bastard daughter.  She’s Sansa Stark, true born daughter of Ned and Catelyn Stark and a girl he’d grown up believing was his half-sister.  She’s not though, she’s my cousin.  

“You remember me now, do you?” she asks and there’s no mistaking the hurt in her voice.

How can he have been so blind?

“Of course, I do.”  

Gods, does he ever.  Sansa in her pretty dresses, forever following Lady Stark around the castle, so eager to please her lady mother.  Sansa being followed around by her septa and being drilled with her courtesies as surely as Ser Rodrik had drilled him and Robb with sword, bow and lance.  Sansa who only ever called him her half-brother once she’d learned of the distinction between him and his half-siblings.  Sansa who never felt like his sister the way Arya did.  

Nevertheless, he’s missed her.  He loves her. She’s part of him and he’s part of her and they have so little left.  

But when you thought she was Alayne…

Seven hells, what would his uncle do to him if he knew the thoughts he’d entertained in the dark of his bedchambers regarding Alayne?  

“Sansa, I’m so sorry but I’m…what are you doing here?  Why is your hair dyed?  Why are you pretending to be something you’re not?”

Once she’s finished telling him, he’s incensed.  No, it’s more than that.  He’s trembling with rage.  Baelish is far fouler than he’d believed.  He’d like to strangle the man with his bare hands.  

“I’ll get you out of here. I’ll take you home,” he swears. He means it.

But when she rushes into his arms, nuzzling against his cheek tenderly and whispering fervently, “I missed you, I thought I wouldn’t see you again,” he’s confused by the things he feels, by that stirring in his chest and elsewhere.  

Littlefinger obviously had plans for her but what does she want?  Isn’t that a good question.  She’d seemed to want him too when he’d been making his sorry attempt at seduction in the name of figuring her out.  There’s no need for games now.  She’s his family.  He can take her home as his kin.

Or, I could take her home as my wife, a voice within says.  

[hithelleth]

Fic writer asks

I was tagged by @eveningspirit. Although my writing has been very minuscule and sporadic over the last years, but as you say, once a writer, always a writer, so thank you!

Author Name: Hithelleth on AO3

Fandoms You Write For:

Uh, the latest were The 100, Yellowstone (the one and only fic for it, yay?! gotta do it yourself if no one else will, right? Please, someone else jump on this bandwagon), Station 19, and Timeless but most of my fanfics were for Revolution (with some crossovers) - I guess i came across it just when my time/energy/writing mood, the show’s potential, and the fandom’s best-ess-ness aligned perfectly -  and I also wrote for AoS and TVD/TO. 

Where Do You Post

Mostly on AO3, sometimes ficlets on tumblr. 

Most Popular Oneshot

AO3 stats say Not Only Bound, a TVD Elena/Elijah/Klaus fanfic from 2013 - and it still gets kudos’d at least once or twice a month, I think. Well, done, me. 

Most Popular Multi Chapter Story

Curiously, Each of Us Is Broken, Always and Forever, a TO Rebekah/Elijah/Klaus fic from 2014 both by number of kudos and chapter/kudos ratio. 

Favorite Story You Wrote

IDK, they are all my babies? I mean I love some more and some less, but yeah? Maybe Dominoes Falling - a TVD/TO happy-ending-for-all that I like to reread myself and marvel at who this genius writer was and f**k JP. Or, similarly,  Reasons to Fight (The 100) and f**k JR.

Story You Were Nervous to Post

I’m always a little nervous - the healthy bit, I think. But fics that I was most nervous about posting were certain AoS fics, because antis. Not that they would stop me, but I was nervous about potential hate barrage, but apparently I’m either not a BNF enough or I give off a repelling vibe, because only one or two people dared pipe up with obnoxiousness. 

How Do You Pick Your Titles

Either I have a title and never finish the fic or I have the posting form already all filled out and then... *panic!* “Oops, forgot a title!” and then I put in a phrase from the fic or one word description of it or something. 

Do You Outline

Sometimes. But usually not-outlining yields better results - or results at all. 

How Many of Your Stories Are Complete

Of the stories posted to AO3, 71 out 77 stories are completed. 

In-Progress

I have six unfinished works on AO3, but I don’t think I’ll finish them. one is a prompt collection (which I could just as well mark as complete, but, eh), and the others are... IDK works in fandoms I lost my mojo in. 

Only Human  is the one I might still add some chapters to. Though It’s Us Who Own the Apocalypse is the one I would most like to see finished, but... it would require too much work. 

And it’s too bad I couldn’t finish There’s a War… but All I See Is You and Me but if the previous one would only require too much work and there’s still hope for it, this one would also require rewatching that shitshow and nope, I am not self-destructive enough to subject my delicate mental health to it. 

And Close Encounters is a bane of my existence, because I like the idea, but I really only like the first two chapters and although I have more chapters written than the 5 posted, I keep going back and forth between ‘this is passable’ and ‘I could publish it’ to ‘this is crap and I should delete everything and just mark the first two chapters as finished.’

Coming Soon

You wish if anything at all. (I mean, I assume eventually something will make me want to write enough to overcome the obstacles and do it, but who knows what and when.)

Do You Accept Prompts

Nah, not currently, but I used to. 

Upcoming Story You’re the Most Excited For

See above, my excitement levels for anything right now are close to 0, at least writing-wise, apart from random flashes that pass before I act on them.

Tag Five Fanfic Authors to Answer These Questions

I have no idea who’s still writing, a natural consequence of not really being really into any fandoms right now, but I’ll pass the ‘once a writer, always a writer’ torch to @lglorien, @jadedbirch, @vesperass-anuna, @ofwoodsandwaves and @stargazerdaisy.

[doctorhelena]

Steggy Fic Recs

This is my contribution for Steggy Week 2k18 Day 1 (Favourite moments, headcanons, and fanwork recs).

There are so many Steggy fics I love that it was hard to know where to start! So, I decided to start at the beginning - here are 10 of the very first Steggy fics I read and loved (back when I watched Agent Carter Season 1, fell hard for Peggy, and wanted to see her be happy with this Steve guy she was clearly still in love with).

In no particular order:

1.  Burning with a Deadly Heat by @amuseoffyre

This epic story is both Steggy and casefic with a really great level of detail and tension. After Steve is unfrozen, several years after the war, he and Peggy tie up some loose ends, with the help of Colonel Phillips and the Howling Commandos.

2.  Metamorphoses by @amuseoffyre

This story is unfinished (and has not been updated in a long time) but is still very much worth reading. The serum doesn’t seem to have much effect on Steve… at first. But Peggy liked Skinny Steve too, and always saw the potential in him. And sometimes changes don’t happen immediately.

3.  I Don’t Want to Set the World on Fire by @bookishandi

This is another fic that is unfinished and hasn’t been updated in a long time, but is still absolutely worth the read. It explores the slow development of the Steggy relationship behind the scenes of CA:TFA.

4.  lovers alone wear sunlight by CoraClavia

A really nice moment between Peggy and Steve on a break for lunch in the Austrian Alps during the war. CoraClavia has written several of these little Steggy gems, and they’re all really good.

5. Five Minutes More by @roboticonography

This is a series of vignettes about the first time various Agent Carter characters meet a recently-defrosted Steve (and, as a bonus, the first time Steve hears “The Captain America Adventure Program”). Fun fact: this story was the reason I joined tumblr, because I didn’t want to miss any future ficlets robot might write. It’s that good! 

6.  The Simple Secret by @roboticonography

This is a Steggy-during-the-war story, where Bucky is injured and Peggy goes on a mission with Steve and the Howling Commandos as their substitute sharpshooter. During which time Steve and Peggy get to know each other better <cough>.

7.  Above and Beyond by thegreytigress

This tells the story Peggy mentions in the interview Steve watches in the Smithsonian in CA:TWS, where Captain America breaks apart a blockade in a blizzard. With, of course, a little help from Peggy and the Howling Commandos.

8.  The Life and Times of Agent Carter by @indiefic

This is a version of Agent Carter season 1 where Steve is around but there’s a different reason Peggy is mourning. I love so much how indiefic incorporated Steve and the Steggy relationship while also managing to make everything happen almost the same way it did on the show, including the overall emotional arc.

9.  soon we’ll be without the moon by @siriaeve

Peggy finds Steve in the bombed-out pub after Bucky falls, and takes him home with her. So. Good. (and, among other things, always makes me want a bacon sandwich!)

10.  Margaret, May I? By Arya_Greenleaf

The author’s notes say this is “a series of ficlets/drabble written in an attempt to up my smut game”, and there is certainly that, but there’s also a lot of really great emotional and plot content, to the point where this really isn’t PWP.

Enjoy! 

[rosethornewrites]

Saturday-Friday T & G reading

Didn’t read Friday. Instead adopted a second kitten.

Finished

Teen:

Uncle-Teacher Conference, by diamondbruise

“Teacher Lan!” Jingyi yelped, suddenly, and Wei Wuxian shifted his attention where the kid was looking.

Oh. Suddenly, all of his confidence drained from him, the shock setting in faster than the nervousness that followed.

Having heard the kid, the man had stopped and turned his attention to them. Lan Wangji in the flesh.

or, wwx meets an old acquaintance

the mortifying ordeal of being loved, by attackofthezee (noxlunate)

Lan Zhan gives him a searching look and Wei Wuxian knows in that moment he could ramble something about giving Lan Zhan his gift later, and that it’s not yet five so they should go back to sleep, and Lan Zhan would allow it. They would go back to sleep and Lan Zhan wouldn’t hold Wei Wuxian down and- and compliment him. He would not, for a single second, begrudge Wei Wuxian for fleeing from this thing that Wei Wuxian often finds so hard to handle but Lan Zhan wants.

Wei Wuxian nods and Lan Zhan’s mouth quirks to the side in a small, pleased smile. Ugh, his husband. Wei Wuxian loves him so much.

Or it's Lan Wangji's birthday and what he wants, and gets, is to compliment his husband without him running from it.

General:

That's Not My Mark, That's Not My Prison, by xxxMiaHikarixxx (3rd in a series)

My take of the cave arc as seen through mdzs, the untamed and my imagination. Lan Zhan is clearly in love with Wei Ying but he is not ready to admit it to anyone-he's barely able to admit to himself that he it's more than a crush. Now he is trapped in a cave with Wei Ying and a monster and he has to fight the pain on his leg, his desires and his anger.

Big Brother Knows Best, by Clarissa_23

Jin Zixun tries to get Lan Wangji drunk by offering him a cup of wine. A drunk accidental time traveller Lan Xichen, however, has another idea.

These Two Most Powerful, by stiltonbasket (9th in a series)

When Lan Wangji went to bed last night, he was alone in a tiny guest room with nothing but the howling of the wind in the mountains and his own lonely thoughts for company.

But when he opened his eyes in the morning, Wei Ying was asleep beside him.

In which Lan Wangji loses twenty years' worth of memories after a night-hunt gone wrong, and his life as a doting father and husband continues without a hitch somehow.

Unfinished

Teen:

With Shortness of Breath, by QueenieWithABeenie

When Lan Wangji stubbornly climbed that mountain, it was with the sole purpose of bringing his love home safely. But Wei Wuxian... his Wei Ying, was nowhere to be found. What Lan Wangji found was a frail little boy and an unbridled rage at the world that allowed this all to come to pass.

OR

What if Wangji stayed in the Burial Mounds after Nightless City?

What if Yiling still had a Patriarch?

Alternate Headcanons, by nirejseki

Random assortment of MDZS ficlets in response to a request for prompts for alternate headcanons for characters

Distance makes the Heart Fonder, by Katiesunshinelightening21

University is hard enough, you've got exams, shitty apartments and shitty landlords, a foster mother continuously reminding you the second you graduate that's it and a potential stalker without being confronted by your childhood best friend who hasn't spoken to you in 4 years.

Yet after a disastrous garden party Wei Wuxian has no choice but to confront the very thing he's been running from, that yes he does have a stalker who is willing to go to great lengths to have him and that he is hopelessly and irrevocably in love with Lan Zhan who seems to have adopted the same indifference to him he had when they were kids.

As Wei Ying attempts to finish his final year of university he will have to rely upon those dearest to him and realise some dangers are closer than he realises.

245_00$a Wangxian Collection, by nerdzeword (7th in a series)

Extent:

37 boxes total, comprised of assorted papers, three manuscripts, a ribbon, art, paperwork from Yiling Orphanage, music scores, approximately three terabytes of video footage on cassette, cds, and flash drives; and a broken compass

Written for the MXTX Museum Gala

What has long been concealed, by Gaby007

The Burial Mounds change everything falling in their grasp, Wei Wuxian is well-placed to know it. Lan Wangji is rather nonplussed when he learns his beloved's secret yet seizes the opportunity to finally bring the Yiling Patriarch to Gusu and keep him safe.

Now, he just has to keep Wei Ying hidden from the cultivation world, and maybe he will get to learn some secrets of the Lan sect as he does.

Talking is Better than Silence, by blackcatkuroi, KuroiWrites (blackcatkuroi)

"This path harms the body. Harms the nature of one's heart even more." Lan WangJi spoke those words upon first seeing Wei Wuxian alive after the Burial Mounds, unknowing of the truth.

Wei Wuxian, though, didn't need to be told, and he accepted that he'd lost whatever he might have once had with Lan WangJi. Several nights later, in a moment of drunken weakness under the melancholic light of a full moon, he tells Lan WangJi the Truth. He'd never needed Lan WangJi to spell out his fate for him - he'd known since he walked out of the Burial Mounds alive.

But one small bit of honesty can go a long way, and Talking is far better than Silence.

General:

Disliking Seperation, by SallySPT

Nearly a year after the events at Guanyin Temple, Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian return to the cultivation world to participate in the Cultivation Conference. Many things have changed in the year that they were gone.

Or Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian adopt a child while traveling and the cultivation world doesn’t know how to react.

Lies and Truth, by parodismal

What happen if Lan Wangji decided to actually check Qiongqi Path after Wei Wuxian leave?

....

It leads to a domino effect towards a new Chief Cultivator

Is it a better?

Or worse?

[kitreadsbirdmen]

Birdmen WIPS

Alright I’m making a collection of some notable fanfiction WIPS I have for each of my major fandoms in the interest of getting me to work on them or garner some interest. 

When I started writing for Birdmen I had the rare need to write for the fandom without any ideas on what exactly. So I did this 100 themes challenge and all those drafts are on a big google doc-- there’s about 7 unfinished or abandoned works on there. But some of my early stuff like Perfection, Colors, Heart Song, Unsettling Revelations, Summer Haze, and Lost and Found also come from those prompts.

Nestmate AU fics

A future AU where the flock attempts to coexist with humanity. My attempt at reflecting current anxieties upon familiar characters with the added angst of them being a different species.

Seeking Solace: Centers around Kamoda visiting home and I go into pleasantries with his character interacting with his sister and (since its a future fic) his nephew. I basically made up a sister character. 

Complicated--> A humorous vignette about Eishi getting an apartment inspection by his landlord while trying to hide that there are several more tenants than policy decrees and that they are all inhuman. I struggled with this one because I’ve worked in a very open, poly relationship with the flock that I don’t want to get rid of but have trouble trying to portray.

I’ve written way too much why didn’t I finish:

Call of the Storm--> Set after Takayama leaves. The flock gets caught in a hurricane and angsts about powers and duty persists. Focuses on Umino’s plight the most. I like describing storms and stuff.

Fool’s Privilege-- Eishi is captured by human authorities. An enemy of the people kind of exploration a la Xmen. Took a lot of themes here for ‘If a Body” 

Fluffy Free Writing Stuff:

Dance Break--> Fluffy crap where the kids bond at a bird club meeting over Umino’s Kpop playlist. This was just an excuse to get some adorable banter in.

Flock Sleepover--> exactly what it says on the tin, except its set after ch 8. One of the earliest Birdmen fics I’ve written. 

Strange AU settings:

Ethnographer of the Skies-- Very strange tableau I wrote while I was taking Anthropology courses. Essentially it’s a speculative future AU where the Seraph race lives in isolation from humans who know of their existence, but little more. It follows an anthropologist OC determined to understand the culture and society of the former humans by immersing herself in the lifestyle of a small birdmen colony in Tokyo (guess who that is?). It’s society headcanons mixed with outsider perspective. I was really facinated reading journals from people surrounding themselves in isolated cultures. Totally a guilty pleasure fic with little substance. Crap I’ve written 2K on this??

Caged Race [pending name political au]--> Set in a similar speculative future. Seraphim live isolated from human society. Their safety from human exploitation is guaranteed by 5 Seraph Guardians. One of which is Rei Sagisawa who has taken to climbing the ranks of the government to maintain some kind of Seraph influence. The truth of his species and true constituency is a secret that a Diet campaign race threatens to expose. Meanwhile the fish out of water-- or bird in a cage struggles with the constant lies.

DLC--> This is a multi-chapter fic that I actually... plan to churn out (famous last words). I talked to Mal about it a bunch. It’s a post ch 33 continuity divergent fic that speculates on a potential seraph ability and what that would cause for a particular character. The only hint I have for this mystery is in the title.

Already Published but Technically Unfinished

Support Group for the Abundantly Abandoned--> Has a ton of cut pages and I intended on going much further in the drama of the family finding out.

Past/Future: This old birdmenweek ficlet had a lot more going. I was gonna go into a hypothetical biography of Takayama’s childhood. Leaning on my personal headcanons and theories and stuff. 

Alright tell me which ones you guys wanna hear more about, want snippets of, or just want me to jump on. 

[aikainkauna]

More meme answers

Right, so Big Dave asked me these, still from this meme:

10: What’s your biggest writer pet-peeve?

I like how this comes from someone who knows I consist of 97% pet peeves, and that pet peeves hold my skeleton together. Others’ bodies run on ATP; my cells burn pet peeves.

Right. I don't even know where to start; there are SO MANY. But I guess my number one would be all the anti-romance and anti-poetry bullshit that gets touted as good writing advice. It all stinks of (often unconscious) misogyny to me, because it's... well, it's the same thing as with frills and ornament and emotions (which are all deemed GIRLY and FRIVOLOUS), just in writing form. It's just covert machismo. I do understand that in the zine era, fanfiction suffered from *so* much bad purple prose, but not all poetry is purple prose. In fact, the whole concept of purple prose is so flawed that it should be torched--it's such an easy stamp to slap on anything that dares describe something in poetic, romantic terms. It's a hatred of beauty, with echoes of Protestant puritanism as well and just... everything I loathe. What the actual fuck do these people think is wrong about deriving aesthetic, even ecstatic beauty from the things you see and feel? What's wrong with that? Who does ornament harm? No one. It's one of those basic human instincts, a need for beauty. The human imagination is so enormous and our capacity for all kinds of crazy experiences (often shoved into the realm of religion and therefore devalued by so-called rationalists), ecstasies, the dreams we dream at night... no, to cut that out would be to try and erase our humanity and to make us into machines. So I will have none of that.

Bad writing is bad writing. Azure orbs and limpid pools are crap because they've been *overused* and because people use them without putting *thought* into them. Bad metaphors become bad because people just use them as shorthand. And while shorthand does have its place (you can't write without it), you have to always use metaphors *consciously* instead of just writing on automatic, and the poetry should make some sort of sense in context (even if it's an intuitive, emotional, dream-logic). If you described just a normal swaggering guy walking like a panther, it wouldn't be that interesting an image--but once you link that to talkie era Conrad Veidt specifically, *then* it starts to get colour, starts to resonate, starts to acquire some "wow"--because it's a fucking *heureka* experience, an insight. Because he really *is* of a panther's nature, Connie. And if you just use "impalement" in the context of sex as shorthand--like, "he impaled him on his cock, then came inside of him, the end" it's not evocative of much. But if you go into the experience of the recipient, have him thinking of how he feels "as if it's never going to go in, and oh fuck, now he expands on the inside and his guts are being pushed up, fuck, it's like impalement..." it starts to work because it ties that to the context of that specific character and situation. So so much of it depends on context.

And once you take away the poetry, you take away the soul. Prose without poetry is like taking vitamin tablets and amino acid powders instead of having a great, nourishing meal with all its scents and tastes. Poetry is like love, like imagination, spirituality--that which makes us happy and fulfilled.

13: What’s your favorite writing quote?

That Angela Carter thing, relating to the above.

37: What’s your oldest WIP?

You are peeking into eldritch abominations here, my friend... I have an unfinished Devil of Winterborne fic from 1997 on a floppy disc somewhere. And a Clarice/Hannibal poem from 2000. Those will never see the light of day, I don't think. As for the ones I do intend to finish (insallah), meaning the ones with Connie characters in--I think I have one little ficlet from Ahmad’s POV that I haven’t posted yet. But it’s kind of inconsequential, so I haven’t felt it’s that important a fic--it’s just one of those fics that describes a little moment. In this case, he sees Jaffar and Yassamin making love in the crystal and decides to go off with Abu instead, and that’s *all* there is to it. The oldest Jaffar/Pwinzezz ones that I do look forward to actually finishing are ones where there are Wild Shipboard Ravishments (because we really have not had enough of those) and then I’ve toyed with an idea of a Jaffar resurrection fic for years, now. Where he does get shot in the head at the end of the movie, but in good fantasy/mythological tradition, he’s stored a copy of his soul into his amber pendant or his crystal pendant and Halima finds it and, according to his instructions (because he was prepared for this), brings him back to life. Mostly because he has blackmailed her into it somehow, and this all ties in with the fate of a woman Halima loves, and only Jaffar knows how to get her back together with Halima, and they have a very fraught relationship while she nurses him back to health, shall we say. But I haven’t really had any more ideas beyond that for the story--where to take it, or at least any ideas I’d be that interested in pursuing.

Aaand then there is potentially Falcon 3, towards the end of their lives, because I want them to die together so that one won’t be miserable and heartbroken after the other half of her/his soul has left this Earth. But it’s not time for that yet.

The one I’m likeliest to finish next (after Roses 23) is another cabinfic, and/or maybe some more Veidtbone RPS. That’s about it--I don’t, thankfully, have that many WIPs because I hate the idea of never finishing a story. So I only start on ones where I (usually) feel like I can finish them, too. All of my nature rebels against the idea of abandonfic, and I never, ever start posting a fic until it’s finished--I couldn’t do that to my readers (or myself). I’ve got a stubborn honesty/duty fetish that way.