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megabadbunny · 7 years ago

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Endless List of WIPs

I was tagged by darlings @gingergallifreyan @pellaaearien and @goingtothetardis and @lvslie ! Thank you for thinking of me! ilu all <3 <3 <3

List all the things you’re currently working on in as much or as little detail as you’d like, then tag some friends to see what they’re working on: writing, art, gifsets, whatever.

Oh my gourd, I’ve got so many WIPs it’s not even funny. It is legitimately depressing how many WIPs are currently languishing in my fic folder. Like I don’t even know what order to go in. Aw, heck. Let’s go nuts!

::draws in a deep breath:: ALL RIGHTY KIDS HERE GOES NUTTIN BRACE YOURSELVES FOR WAAAAY MORE SPOILERIFIC DETAIL THAN ANYONE ASKED FOR

Minuet (some parts eventually nsfw, partially published, I’m actually consistently working on this??? tHe FuCk):

“Is this normal?” Mickey asks Rose under his breath as the Doctor prattles on, chattering to no one in particular while he strides away with impressive speed.

“No,” Rose sighs. She watches the Doctor as he wanders off, tries to ignore the sick feeling twisting in her chest. “This is new.”

She can feel Mickey’s eyes on her when she doesn’t elaborate. “So…did something happen last night?” he asks, slowly, cautiously, like he doesn’t really want to hear the answer.

Rose fights the urge to heave another sigh, wraps her arms around her body instead. “No,” says again. “Nothing happened.”

She knows Mickey doesn’t believe her, would be able to tell by his suspicious silence even if she couldn’t see the eyebrow arching off his forehead, but mercifully, he doesn’t ask again. Instead, he proffers his arm to Rose, standing up ramrod-straight like he’s posing for a school formal photo.

Rose shoots him a questioning look. He grins at her. “C’mon, babe,” he says with a wink. “Let’s go for a stroll and you can tell me all about your adventures back in fancypants France.”

Rose smiles despite herself. “Are you sure you’d rather hear about that than whatever thrilling botany lesson the Doctor’s throwing at us?”

Mickey shrugs. “We’ll just make sure to throw a few uh-huh’s and how fascinating’s his way every once in a while.”

Threading her arm through his, Rose laughs.

forbidden planet (a mostly-complete response to a timepetals prompt from aaaages ago):

Martha stifles a laugh. For such a bigger-on-the-inside vessel, the bedrooms are awfully cramped. Her room can’t be much wider than she is tall, and the sloped ceiling—why sloped? Is her room positioned against the outer hull somehow? Just what is the TARDIS really shaped like?—does nothing to combat the claustrophobic feel of the place. It makes her think of cabins below-deck, of tight-knit quarters and tiny bunks. If she didn’t know any better, she would almost feel like she was traveling on a real ship.

A seaship, she quickly corrects. Just in case. All of this might be very new to her, but she was at least warned about the gentle buzzing at the back of her skull. Best to remain on good terms with her hostess, she thinks.

Weariness tugs at her bones, a special kind of gravity drawing her inexorably toward the bed, but she isn’t quite ready to sleep yet.

(“Go and have a good wander,” he’d said.

“Is there anyplace I can’t go?” she’d asked.

“Why would there be?”

She had laughed. “I don’t know. Maybe you’ve got a restricted area. Maybe there’s a west wing with a rose in a glass or something.”

He had almost seemed to flinch at that, but it was only an almost-flinch. She could have imagined it.

“The TARDIS won’t let you go anywhere you shouldn’t,” he had told her. “And don’t worry: my claws are purely figurative,” he’d added with a wink.

Strangely, that hadn’t made her feel any better.)

A New Song for River (rated teen, partially published, will finish some day I frigging SWEAR):

How did this happen? How did she let this happen?

(What did she just do?)

River feels like she might choke. Something is squeezing the inside of her chest. In an odd way, she’s glad, because otherwise, things feel like they’re not really happening right now. She’s watching a movie—a truly horrendous one, at that—and she can’t turn it off.

The Doctor does not say anything, and River knows from experience that this is very rare, and very bad.

“Are you angry with me?” River asks calmly, as if they’ve just had a lovers’ quarrel. She laughs. “Are you disappointed?”

The Doctor does not offer a response, and River does not press her for one. “I suppose it’s different when you murder someone,” she says instead. “It’s always justified when you have to do it. Right?”

Sleepy Hollow ficlet (untitled, all-ages, based on a prompt I think, will it ever get done? No one knows):

The Doctor doesn’t have time to move away, barely even has time to think, before she lifts the veil and presses a kiss to his lips.

Stunned, he doesn’t do anything, doesn’t reciprocate or pull away or wave his hands ineffectually about or do much of anything, really. He just stands there like some kind of idiot.

The crowd around them laughs and claps their hands, delight from the game quickly overtaking their mistrust of the foreigner in their midst. (It occurs to the Doctor that anyone who responds to a kiss in this fashion probably isn’t regarded as much of a threat. He’s seen walruses flopping on the beach with more dignity.) Dimly, the Doctor is aware that the smirking fellow is no longer smiling—“fuming” may be the more appropriate word choice at this juncture—because halfway through, the kiss has changed into something a little bit more, the girl’s hands traveling up to tangle her fingers in his hair, lips parting to betray just the smallest bit of moisture, and now this is a kiss the Doctor recognizes.

“Rose?” he squeaks into the girl’s mouth.

The girl—Rose—frowns. She removes her veil and blindfold and stares up at the Doctor, charting his face with wide brown eyes. The Doctor smiles, relaxing just a little bit; the sight of her soothes tension in his shoulders he wasn’t aware he’d had.

Except why is she looking at him like that?

“Forgive me,” Rose murmurs in an unfamiliar American voice, “Do I know you, sir?”

The Doctor feels his grin fade off his face. It corresponds nicely with the sinking feeling in his chest.

No Place Like Hohm (partially published, mostly written fOr ReAlSiEs it just needs a good polishin’!!!):

The Doctor shrugged. “Meddling with timelines is tricky business. Anytime we land, it’s really best to disturb things as little as possible, just make a little tweak here or there, try to blend in and then disappear. You know, help where we can without making too much of a splash.”

Mickey snorted in disbelief. “Yeah, right.”

“Excuse me, I happen to be very good at what I do,” the Doctor said, “and yes, I’m very sorry that you’re not witnessing the usual full and immersive experience on your first new planet. But right now, we don’t have the time to go sneaking into the stadium and gallivant about in loincloths and spears. So we’re bending the rules just a bit.”

“Why?” Mickey asked. “Not that I really want to wear a loincloth,” he added hurriedly.

The entire TARDIS gave a great shudder as it started to materialize. The Doctor grabbed his coat. “Because,” he said, averting his eyes from Mickey’s as he pulled his coat on. “It’s Rose.”

He looked up to see Mickey watching him with a shrewd expression. He didn’t like it. Something about Mickey the Idiot being shrewd or, even worse, astute, just made him grumpy.

“Well?” he snapped. “Are you going to be useless in here or are you going to be useless out there?”

Mickey scoffed. “Like I’m going to let you take all the credit for the rescue.”

“That’s the spirit!” the Doctor agreed.

The Day of the Doctor: Redux (this isn’t quite a fic, so much as a re-imagining of the 50th anniversary special and how it could have worked better even with very similar story elements):

The Girl in the Fireplace: Redux (exactly what it says on the tin; gitf rewritten so that the plot makes sense and the characters are, well, in-character):

“So how’s it alive in deep space?” Rose asks while Mickey simultaneously blurts out, “What d’you mean, ‘living’? We’re not—”

Mickey glances round the corridor, realizing for the first time, perhaps, that the floor beneath their feet is spongy and soft, the cables stringing overhead are actually vines, the reason the walls are rough and ridged like tree bark is because that’s exactly what they are, and the lights surrounding them don’t resemble anything electronic so much as phosphorescent, only half-dispelling the semi-darkness that has fallen on the entire vessel.

And he doesn’t even want to know what that sticky stuff on the ceiling is.

“—standing around inside something alive, are we?” he finishes with a shudder, gingerly reaching out to touch something that looks, for all the world, like a patch of blue moss on the wall.

“That’s exactly what we’re doing,” the Doctor replies brightly.

Mickey’s hand snaps back. “Gross.”

“Oh, come on,” Rose teases, “The TARDIS is alive. That doesn’t bother you, does it?”

“This is different, you know it is. The TARDIS doesn’t look like the inside of a swamp, it isn’t dark and creepy, and most importantly, it doesn’t have floors that go squish.”

“Oh really?” the Doctor asks, scoping out the place with renewed intrigue. “You think so?”

“You gonna tell me the TARDIS does have squishy floors?” Mickey asks uneasily.

“No, no,” the Doctor tells him, dismissive, his eyes trailing over the walls, his brain cataloging details in the background. “Well, not usually.”

The Girl in the Revolution (explicit, unposted but maybe half-written; another post-GitF au, but considerably darker and angstier than Minuet):

“I want you to realize how selfish you are,” Rose tells him.

The Doctor nods. He doesn’t take his eye off her. “Yes,” he agrees. “I very much am.”

“You’re selfish, and you’re petty, and you’re really no better than anyone else.”

The words sound like they hurt her just as much as they’re hurting him. “Yes,” he agrees again, says truthfully, his voice gone rough.

“I was in love with you, you know.”

His glance flickers away. “I know.”

It’s true. He does know. Always has, on some level. Just hasn’t known exactly what to do about it.

He can’t quite meet her eyes, looks at the wall behind her shoulder instead. In his periphery, he can see that she’s blushing, a red flush blossoming across her cheeks and neck and chest. She’s embarrassed, and upset, but her eyes are still trained on his face.

“Don’t suppose you still are,” he says to the wall.

Rose laughs quietly. “Would it make any difference if I was?”

It’s not a no. He’ll take his chances.

Defenders of the Altverse, Episode 02: The Saturn Initiative (mostly all-ages, partially published, has technically mostly been written but I keep re-writing it over and over and AAAARRRRRGH):

“Most pressingly, I’m someone who isn’t overly fond of having weapons pointed at him for no good reason,” the stranger replied. Reaching out slowly, he placed one hand over the barrel of the gun, pushing downward until it pointed at the floor. “Well, I prefer not to have weapons pointed at me for any reason, really, but it’s sort of a given in my occupation, I’m afraid.”

Ripley didn’t move to stop him, studied his face instead. Something about the man seemed familiar, though Ripley couldn’t quite name it.

“So who is he?” Ripley asked Rose.

“Right. Doctor, Ripley; Ripley, Doctor,” Rose said, gesturing between them.

Ripley’s eyes widened. “You’re the Doctor?” he asked, holstering his gun. “The Doctor?”

“You’ve heard of me?”

“I don’t think there’s anyone from the old team who hasn’t heard of you.”

Suspicion evaporated from the Doctor’s face in an instant. “Old team, you say?” he asked, suddenly curious. “What team? And why old team? Is there a new team?”

“He doesn’t know about the crew?” Ripley asked Rose.

Instead of answering, Rose just cleared her throat and looked away. “So, what’s the story here?” she asked. She crossed her arms in front of her body, holding them close like a pair of shields. “I mean, not that I’m not happy to see you—”

“You’re not, but keep going.”

“—but I don’t see why I’m needed,” Rose continued like she hadn’t heard him. “If Torchwood’s already on the case, they’ll sort it all out. Won’t they?”

“Well, I had sort of hoped you were on the case,” Ripley said, frowning.

Defenders of the Altverse, Episode 03: The Dark Forest and the Bad Wolf (unpublished, partially complete but haven’t worked on it in over a year, will it ever see the light of day? Who knoooows):

“Oh, my darling,” the Doctor forced out, feeling awkward under the heavy glare of the villagers’ suspicious eyes. “I...love you too!”

Rose peeked up and over her fingers. The Doctor thought she may be smiling behind her hands. Her eyes twinkled a bit. Only for him, though.

“I thought I’d never see you again,” he said, summoning any and all acting skills he’d ever possessed. “Oh, my sweet, sweet wife!” He pushed through the crowd to get to Rose.

She did not wait for him to reach her. She ran straight into his arms, flinging herself against him, wrapping him in a snug embrace. Even through all of his layers of clothing, he could feel her heart hammering desperately. She was, perhaps, more concerned than she would let on.

“You all right?” he whispered into her ear. She tightened the hug in response. He squeezed her back. A hug is no good if you don’t reciprocate, he reasoned.

But the hug broke off when the Doctor realized that Rose was shivering horribly. Of course. He shed his coat and placed it around her shoulders.

“Won’t you be cold?” she asked, though she received it gratefully.

“Nah,” he said with a grin. Rose smiled up at him. That was all the warmth he needed for now.

Well, figuratively speaking. He was actually already quite cold.

Defenders of the Altverse, Episode 04: An Inadvertent Adventure (unposted despite the fact that this damn thing is ENTIRELY WRITTEN. It has been complete for LITERAL YEARS NOW. Like at this point I’m gonna have to read-through and rewrite it just so it’s up to date with my current style. BLARGH):

Jackie gaped as the Doctor waved the lemurs goodbye. “How did you do that?” she asked. “I saw you do that before, earlier. Are you doing some Spock thing?”

The Doctor laughed.

“What?” Jackie demanded.

“Nothing,” the Doctor chuckled. “Just having a moment.”

He started removing the frond-cover from the TARDIS. “It’s telepathy,” he explained, and he smiled when Jackie started helping him pull the huge fern leaves down. “If I’m in direct physical contact with someone, I can reach out and read their thoughts.”

Jackie yanked her hands back. “Weird,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “And rude.”

“Well, I don’t make a habit of it,” the Doctor told her. “Telepathy’s a tricky thing. One wrong move, you can turn both of your brains into pudding.”

“Weird, rude, and dangerous. Sounds like you all over!” Jackie snarked.

The Doctor didn’t reply, just nodded and flashed her a mischievous grin.

Defenders of the Altverse, Episode 05 (all-ages, unposted, untitled):

“Okay, how about this?” the pinstriped man asked, stowing his hands in his pockets as he took several purposeful steps toward the Doctor. “I’m not just from another universe. I’m you from another universe.”

The Doctor chuckled at that. “Well, you’re a very ambitious liar, I’ll give you that.”

“If you’re desperate for proof, I can tell you everything that happened on Arcadia,” the man said quietly, “And Susan’s last words. But I don’t think either of us want to think about either of those any more than we must.”

“Susan? Who’s Susan?” the Doctor scoffed.

“Oh, right, I guess they could have gone with the other name here,” the man said, rocking back on his heels. “Let’s see, what else did they think of naming her?” he asked thoughtfully. “Something to do with ‘M’. Mary? M’vula? No,” he remembered.

He glanced back at the Doctor. “Mara,” he said.

The Doctor felt the grin slide slowly off his face. His granddaughter Mara was long dead. Or very recently dead, depending on how you looked at it. Either way, her body was cold and rotting.

“I would dearly love for you to tell me she’s still alive here,” the pinstriped man said, “But somehow I feel like that’s a bit much to hope for.”

Untitled 1 (sequel to la belle dame sans merci):

“…breathe, Doctor, please!” he hears, or thinks he hears filtering in amongst the rest of the clatter, and he thinks he feels the pressure of a familiar hand on his chest, on his cheek, but he can’t move, can’t breathe, can’t think—

(She’s not there, she was never there, there were no kisses, no whispered confessions, no lazy afternoons or too-late nights, no silly movies or ignored phone calls or held hands or stolen glances or too-tight embraces no missions no fights no shared flats no shared beds no them no her no no no no no no)

The next thing he knows, the room around him is crowded, filled with the hustle and bustle and monitor-checking and notes-taking and questions-asking of a dozen (maybe a hundred) Torchwood doctors and nurses. Lights shine in his eyes and mouth and fingers press against his wrist and a needle pinches the inside of his arm, the soft fleshy bit inside his elbow (his antecubital fossa, he thinks dully), and for once, thank god for Jackie because she’s back in the room, answering all of the questions for him, her hand wrapped tightly around his. Before long, he feels himself drifting, his consciousness untethered and floating away into a deep, black sleep.

(He can’t make out the words, but he can hear the concern in Jackie’s voice; she squeezes his hand in assurance and he thinks he should squeeze back, but all he can do is wonder why it isn’t Rose holding his hand before the curtains fall and darkness claims him again.)

Untitled 2 (aka a totally random fic I’m still tinkering with about Rose x Depression as observed by one Mickey Smith):

“I need help,” she says one day, quietly. Like she isn’t even sure she wants to be heard.

“Sure thing, babe,” he replies. His words are firm and sure and spoken without a second thought, the way hers used to be. “What do you need?”

“I need help knowing how I should feel about this.”

Mickey glances up from his monitor, surprised. Of all of the things she could have asked, this one seems the least expected, somehow. Rose always knows how to feel about something. She always knows what to do about it, too. But she’s a little different, now, in this different universe. Mickey supposes they all are.

Rose hands over a magazine. It’s one of those trashy things from the paper shops, a publication just as likely to feature celebrity gossip as it is a mermaid washed up in Bournemouth. (There’s no such thing in this universe as a mermaid, just like the other. Mickey knows. He checked, just to be sure.) One of its corners waves and curves upward, its edges stained yellow-beige with grease. Rose must have stopped for chips on the way over. Good. At least she’s remembering to eat now.

It takes Mickey just a second to find what he’s looking for, and when he does, he has to stifle a laugh. Splashed across the front cover in obnoxious yellow, right above a photo of Rose looking as grumpy as humanly possible beneath her oversized (designer) sunglasses, a headline reads I WAS ABDUCTED BY ALIENS!—MYSTERIOUS VITEX HEIRESS REVEALS ALL ABOUT ORIGINS.

“Well,” Mickey says, rubbing his jaw. “When you compare it to Bat Boy, it seems downright reasonable, doesn’t it? Not half-accurate, either.”

“I wasn’t abducted.”

“Try telling your mum that,” Mickey chuckles under his breath.

Untitled 3 (aka “tiem babby” because I’m an adult; a timepetals prompt reply that will wither on the vine if I don’t water it soon, aaaalaksdjfl;kj):

His body is a vessel filled with lead and regret. It’s heavy, too heavy, his feet loathe to move. But eventually he stops staring and starts moving. He walks even though his limbs resist him every step of the way, his motions unhurried and thick like he’s wading through water or molasses.

(This is the first day of the rest of his life.)

Canary Wharf’s blinding-whiteness might hurt his eyes, if he bothered looking up at all. (He doesn’t; he won’t; what’s the point?) His gaze points floorward but registers nothing, gliding sightlessly over tiny mountains of debris and indiscriminate electronic carnage. When he finally reaches the TARDIS, he can barely muster enough energy to pull his key from his pocket.

Safe inside his ship, he allows himself a moment, eyes shuttering closed as he slumps against the doors.

“So?”

His eyes fly back open. The Doctor snaps up quickly enough to give a human whiplash, and he can just feel himself going pale as the blood drains from his face.

Jackie Tyler stands next to the console, wearing a denim jacket, a velour tracksuit, and an expectantly-arched eyebrow.

(Oh, and a baby on her hip. Can’t forget that, though the Doctor somehow managed to.)

Untitled 4 (aka Rose seduces the metacrisis Doctor on a Torchwood mission, aka “officesmut”; hey, at least my temp titles let you know exactly what to expect...):

It occurs to her, suddenly, that maybe he isn’t quite so hopeless as he seems.

“Leaving so soon?” he asks, his breath warm against her ear, his voice dangerously low.

Rose swallows, a thrill shooting through her. “I thought we were finished here.”

“Well, you thought wrong, then, didn’t you?”

She arches her hips experimentally, grinding against him until his grip on her waist tightens. “Oh, I don’t know,” she drawls. “Feels like I had the right thought.”

Chuckling under his breath, the Doctor brushes her hair away from her neck, fingertips grazing feather-light over her skin. She shivers deliciously. Bites her lip in anticipation.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” the Doctor says, planting kisses along the join of her shoulder and neck, “but this new body is much more difficult to control than the old one. Before, it was simply a matter of exercising discipline, and only a small amount at that. But now I’m quite a bit more—”

“—responsive?” Rose suggests, pressing her bum into him again.

“Frustrated.” He nips at her neck and her toes curl in response. “Don’t think I missed any of your display tonight. I see everything, Rose, and I smell it and I taste it, too.”

Untitled 5 (unposted, explicit, another timepetalsprompt fill er mer gerrrrrrd why can’t I finish anything):

When the elevator slows to a halt on the ground floor, and the Doctor still hasn’t turned around, tension leaks out of Rose’s shoulders and she’s able to breathe again. He hasn’t noticed her; he will leave the elevator and go about the rest of today’s adventure, oblivious but wonderful, ridiculously unobservant but safe.

Rose believes that right up until she hears the telltale whir of the sonic screwdriver, and realizes that although the lift has stopped, the doors remain closed.

“Do you know,” the Doctor says conversationally, as if they’ve been talking to each other this whole time like old friends, “I remember a time when you used to run with me, not from me.”

Rose’s heart lodges in her throat. Wordlessly, she glances about for something, anything, that can help her, but either the lift is truly empty or the adrenaline racing through her veins is blinding her.

Fuck.

The Doctor chuckles under his breath. “But I suppose I should be saying Thank you. Otherwise I might have fallen for it.”

Fallen for what? Rose thinks, but she doesn’t have a chance to ask—he’s already turned around and there’s no mistaking it, he sees her now, he sees her, his eyes hard and glittering, and did his gaze always burn like this?, and fuck.

Untitled 6 (explicit, multichapter, unposted; prompted a hundred million years ago and certainly the promptee has given up on it by now yet I stubbornly slog on; simply labeled as “post-je super angst latest” because wow, am I clever or what):

“Awful quiet,” Jackie remarks at the tailor’s, her voice low so that only Rose can hear. She rifles through a clothing rack and pulls out a suit jacket (in blue, not brown; she’s cottoned on quickly).

“How d’you mean?” Rose asks.

Tilting her head, Jackie holds the jacket out at arm’s length, surveying the garment and the Doctor in the same glance. The jacket’s skinny, but not as skinny as he is. “Thought you’d be bouncing off the walls, the both of you,” Jackie explains. “That, or tangled up in the bedsheets.”

Rose groans. “Oh my god, mum.”

“Don’t give me that. I know how it is. Lose the man you love, spend years pining after him, finally find a parallel version of him in an alternate universe. Bound to be some celebratory shagging, isn’t there?”

Jackie replaces the jacket on the rack and grabs a different one. “Especially when he keeps wearing those tight trousers. You buying what he’s selling, or what?”

Rose closes her eyes and prays for mercy. “Mum, I’m pretty sure he can hear us.”

Both of them glance across the store to check, but the Doctor seems absorbed in the necktie display, smiling when Tony points to a tie in a shade of nearly-TARDIS-blue.

“Nah,” Jackie sniffs. “Even his hearing isn’t that good, I reckon.”

As soon as she turns away, the Doctor looks up at Rose with a wink.

(Is she imagining things, or did it suddenly get a few degrees warmer in the shop?)

Untitled 7 (college theatre au; another prompt-reply from like centuries ago I’m so so sorry nonny I hope you’re still alive and your bones haven’t turned to dust):

Rose opened her mouth to politely tell this gent and his posh Estuary accent to mind their own business, but fortunately, her eyes moved faster than her lips; she found herself staring at a bloke who, despite being so thin that a hard look might knock him over, was pretty enough to make her heart trip on itself. Academic types didn’t usually do it for her (there was something about their snooty voices and prim manners and patronizing attitudes that grated on her nerves, somehow). But, looking this fellow up and down as subtly as she was able, eyes cataloging everything from his spectacles to his wild hair to his freckles to the ever-so-slightly tatty brown pinstripe suit—paired with Chucks, no less, who wears Chucks with a pinstripe suit?—Rose felt that perhaps she could make an exception this time.

“Thanks, professor. I’ll keep it in mind,” she teased as the lift lurched and lumbered upward.

“What makes you say I’m a professor?” he asked, mouth twitching in amusement.

She shrugged. “S’just a joke,” she replied, but halfway through her sentence, it occurred to him that he was looking at her in a very specific way, and that gave her pause. He wasn’t leering at her like the lads on the sidewalk, or sneering at her like gentlemen in suits were oft wont to do. Instead he was watching her almost like—

Like she was onto something.

And...I think that’s it. Phew. I’ve got my work cut out for me! ^ ^;;

Tagging: @tiffotcf @helplesslynerdy @abadplanwellexecuted @wordsintimeandspace @lvslie and anyone else who’s interested in playing! :3

#ficandchips #ficandchips wip #wip meme #so many wips so little time #so #many #wips #:'D #mbb fic #also lvslie tumblr did not tell me you tagged me in the thing #darn you tumblr #::shakes fist::

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maniacalmole · 6 years ago

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My First Fanfic

Thank you @sous-le-saule for tagging me! I love this idea. Looking back on the first fanfic I ever posted has reminded me of what it was like at the time, sharing my writing with a LOT of people for the first time, having people actually RESPOND, SO NICELY, and being able to share a story even more, precisely because it’s fanfiction and we already love these characters. I felt like I’d found something I had been looking for for a long time, and that was really special. So thanks for reminding me of all that :)

I would like to read @lvslie ‘s and @staubengel ‘s if you guys want to reminisce and share! And I second that @not-a-space-alien tag!

Technically I’ve written ‘fanfiction’ for a long time. Before I even knew it was a thing, I wrote a really long Hogwarts fanfic with my own characters in middle school. I wrote part of a SPN fanfic that I never finished. But this is the first thing I posted. I put it on Ao3 in February 2016, about the same time as you, sls! But I think I posted it on tumblr around September 2015, so it’s been almost three years that I’ve been doing this.

It’s a pretty short one, about Crowley feeling insecure (so some things never change). Lol @myself for rating it T, it’s definitely fine for general audiences, I just was nervous posting it for the first time XD

Eggs Without Salt

(on ao3)

AJ Crowley woke up in his bed, cold. He had kicked the sheets off of him, and they were tangled around his legs. He was lying on his stomach, one arm crushed underneath him, the other stretched out across the rest of the bed. He stared at it, and his open hand, looking like it was reaching for something.

He’d blown it all, this time.

With a groan, he pulled in his arm and used it to push himself up, just enough so he could turn his head and look around the room. Definitely empty. Just white walls and cold white sheets. On the bedside table there was only one pair of glasses, and they were dark. Crowley grimaced. He grabbed the sunglasses and crammed them onto his face, then dropped himself onto his stomach again, letting out a sigh that turned into a low hiss.

Aziraphale was definitely gone, then.

Humans had invented a story about a little boy who cried ‘Wolf’. The demon wished he had never heard it. How many times had he gotten the angel to do something under false pretenses? It was in his job description to always have an ulterior motive. He couldn’t even blame him for not trusting the good intentions of a demon. Good intentions weren’t usually allowed.

Crowley’d told him he wasn’t doing sleep the right way. Aziraphale’s bed was a small twin shoved into the corner of the back room of his bookstore, which was also mostly packed with books and collectibles. The mattress was decades old; it could hardly even qualify as a mattress by the modern era’s definition. The angel had discovered sleep but preferred using his nights for reorganizing his collections of old combs and vintage watches. But you can’t call that sleep, Crowley had told him, the day before. Not on that old thing. You need something with space to spread out. Memory foam mattress, sheets with a high thread-count. Come on, I’ll show you. Humans have invented sleep with style.

Ulterior motives. Aziraphale was not stupid. He must have seen through it. He had probably woken up, realized Crowley had tricked him, and flown the coop first thing. Before Crowley would have the chance to tell him why he had wanted so badly to trick him into staying over.

Aziraphale had waited until the morning, though. That was what Crowley did not understand. Last night, he had stayed. Crowley had not exactly given him ‘space to spread out’, but the angel had gone to sleep, anyway. Close to him, with one hand in his hair. Crowley could still remember the feeling of the atrocious beige sweater against his face, rough and scratchy. He had never slept so well.

Now, he felt the sunglasses digging into the side of his face and brow. He could not be bothered to move.

The worst of it was….The worst was, that he had not done it that way this time. He had started out edging around what he really wanted, tempting instead of just asking, the way he always did. When he had gotten Aziraphale to his flat, though…he had really told him everything.

He just wanted him nearby. A bit nearer than nearby, if that wasn’t too much. He enjoyed spending time with him. All the time. He just wished he was there more often than he was.

He had thought he’d understood, that the angel had known he meant it. But now…

A sound came from the kitchen.

Crowley pushed himself up instantly. His glasses fell off his face as he moved into a sitting position. He listened.

There was another clanging noise. It was followed by more sounds of metal hitting granite countertops. Slowly, Crowley slid off the end of the bed and walked to the door. The glasses remained sitting on the stark white sheets.

Crowley walked into the kitchen. Every pot and pan he owned was spread out across the counters, along with a lot of flour, which was odd, because he smelled eggs. Standing with his back facing the demon, some of the flour stuck in his curly hair and all over his sweater, was Aziraphale.

Crowley watched him wordlessly for a while. The angel seemed to be having trouble with the stove. At last he got it working, and he turned to get one of the pans. When he did so, he spotted Crowley. He gave him a smile.

“Ah, there you are.” He grabbed the pan and started shuffling the others about, creating another floury dust-cloud. “Tell me, how do you like your eggs? As soon as I find the salt….” He found it at last and held it up with a triumphant grin. “Aha!” He looked back at Crowley.

Crowley was staring at him with his mouth slightly open. Aziraphale gave him a quizzical look, adjusting his reading glasses.

“Now, I know you used to swallow them whole—“ He turned back to the stovetop. “But that was millennia ago, and I had rather figured your tastes would have changed, somewhat.”

Carefully, Crowley took a seat at one of the stools by the counter. Aziraphale looked at him over his shoulder. He seemed to be reading him. He put on a gentle expression that was somewhere between a smile of amusement and a frown.

“Now, really, my dear,” he said. Crowley met his eye. He stared back at him for a few seconds.

“Over-easy.”

Aziraphale smirked and turned back to the stove. “I suppose I can’t very well ask you to say your ‘please’s and ‘thank you’s, can I?” Despite his expression, his voice sounded cheerful. Almost affectionate.

Crowley just pulled himself closer, rested one arm on the counter, and smiled.

#look at those commas #overall though it's not...that bad which is a relief #good omens #fanfic #thank you so much sls!! <3

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perfectlyrose · 7 years ago

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2017 fic in review

alright alright finally getting in gear and doing this!! I was tagged by @chocolatequeennk, @lvslie, @aneclipsedhabitue, @jemsauce, @lastbluetardis, and @ofstormsandwolves (phew. thanks y’all!!)

total number of completed stories:

Umm... first count is 177 fics. Now, many of those are super short but I counted anything with a title, so... yeah. some of those aren’t up on AO3 or might have been folded into a ficlet collection. Also I mildly cheated and counted WIPs updated or started this year.

according to my monthly round up posts, i also have ~133 prompt meme responses of various sorts of fic.

total word count:

According to my potentially unreliable math skills from my monthly round ups... 140,979 words

fandoms written in:

Doctor Who, Teninch (Broadchurch, A Passionate Woman, Casanova, Mansfield Park), Rogue One, Hamilton, Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries, Wonder Woman, Marvel, Buffy the Vampire Slayer

looking back, did you expect to write more fic than you thought you would this year, less, or about what you’d expected?

I think the sheer volume of fic is more than I expected, but the word count seems about right, maybe a bit more than I expected.

what’s your own favorite story of the year?

hmmm, they are all my children but I’m going to go with something I don’t mention anywhere else on this thing (me, answering this question last) and so... Counterspell. This was me coming back to a series I hadn’t added to in almost two years but still loved and I’m so happy to be back in it and I hope to be writing more of the everyday magic verse soon!

did you take any writing risks this year?

Yes!! I branched out a LOT this year. I really fully embraced my love of writing femslash and I’ve had so much fun writing a wide variety of pairings just to see how they work.

I’ve also dipped my toes into a couple of other fandoms and oh my god I was so scared but people were so welcoming and I hope to do more of that this year.

do you have any fanfic or profit goals for the new year? I

Ficwise, I would like to work on and maybe finish a few of my WIPs, namely the Amy/Rose superhero AU, Burning Gold, obscured, and Up In Flames. I’ve got a couple of updates in the works and a WIP that i’ve started but haven’t started to post yet. I would also like to work on branching out some more shipwise and fandomwise on occasion, just to keep myself challenged by working with new characters and in new universes.

Not necessarily profit goals, but I also want to work a lot more on original writing this year. It terrifies me but I think I’m ready to try.

best story of the year?

it’s not a single story but i wrote the last five installments of the a young mountain and a strange girl series this year and I’m really proud of them and how they and the whole series came out.