#fic paragraph ask game

[dgshoe]

For the paragraph fic game, what about Twewy?

“I don’t care!” Rindo said with finality, the formless faces of the two composers before him shifted ever so slightly in response to the sound of his voice. “Infinite power? Wisdom? I couldn’t give less of a shit!” he spat. Then his expression turned murderous as he grasped the Kubo’s pin, feeling the Noise within thrum. “Give me my friends back.”

[ragnarokhound]

Happy Halloween! Trick or treat?

Hee hoo thanks for the ask, anon! Happy Halloween :3 A silly supernatural jaytim 3 sentence paragraph (lol) fic for you:

"For the last time, I am not getting in the damn coffin with you," Jason huffs.

Tim leans out over the polished wood and satin lining, his fangs flashing as he pouts, winding his arms lazily around Jason's neck and burying his fingertips in Jason's hair-- because he's a dirty cheater and he knows that Jason's willpower is brittle as old bone this close to the full moon. He resolves to stay strong, because if you give Tim an inch then he'll take the whole damn continent.

"You don't have to, I suppose," Tim sighs, red eyes flashing from under his eyelashes. "I'll just be here...cold. Lonely. Wanting." He breathes the words against Jason's lips, and Jason whines. Christ. The things he does for this bloodsucker.

[atthebell]

🌹🌹🌹

The first thing he really noticed was his laugh, though, and then his smile. Watching him press his hands up against the glass in the boat and start shouting about flag codes, the way his eyes lit up when Roier shouted back and threw himself at the glass. The eagerness upon solving the puzzle, the easy way he clasped people’s hands and introduced himself. Roier looked at him, long and slow, and thought that maybe Cellbit could be something he wanted.

i have this fic planned that's entirely just spiderbit talking about every tiny thing they love about each other and what made them each fall in love and this is from that. they're soooooooo

[for every "🌹" received in my inbox i'll post one random sentence of a random WIP i'm currently writing]

[ariadne-mouse]

The Anachronist please! 😯

Hi there! :)

The Anachronist is an oldie but a goodie, a WIP that I started in 2021 and wrote a tidy 13k centered on that oh-so captivating feature of Aeor: stasis bubbles. However my momentum fizzled out as I got pulled into other projects. I'm including it in this meme because my motivation to finish it has been given a boost by the current Aeor arc! Nothing like seeing the source concept again to get the wheels turning.

Here's an excerpt under the cut:

“Hello, my friend,” Essek greeted quietly as he approached, smiling at the familiar joke. “How is your day?”

Inside the sphere, the Aeorian mage did not reply.  He never did, of course, but once Essek had begun talking to him many months ago, he’d found it difficult to stop.

“I almost made it past the temple yesterday,” Essek reported, floating cross-legged above the cracked stones of the street, leaning his cheek tiredly on his hand. “I’ve been hoping to find another arcane canon to protect the outpost.  But those ice basilisks are very frustrating.  And there are three of them now, and I am low on healing potions.  As a calculated risk, it did not… what is the Common phrase?  Pen out.”

He paused, imagining what the mage might answer.  It was a harmless game, if an undignified one.  It didn't matter: no one was here to see it.  No one was here to see Shadowhand Essek Thelyss, secret traitor to the Dynasty, having a pretend conversation with a relic preserved in arcane amber.

“Yes, I thought it best to stay back, as well.  But now that I am here, I don’t suppose you will finally tell me where you are running off to, or what you are casting?” 

Silence.

Essek sighed. “I thought not.  You do enjoy your mysteries.”

Idly, Essek mimicked the somatic shape of the wizard’s hands, as he had many times before.  What could this gesture correspond to?  What shapes and movements came before or after?  The wizard’s mouth was slightly open - the beginning of a verbal component?  What was he saying?

His current guess was still something in the realm of transmutation, but he didn’t know what.  There was too little information, and Essek was not a transmutation specialist.  

Stirred to movement by his thoughts, Essek got up and took a slow turn around the dome.  He trailed his hand across its glassy surface and left iridescent swirls of energy in his wake, like eddies in a stream. Looking down, he noted once again the stark transition between the dark grey ruin outside the dome and the smooth, painted street within it.  On the inside there were even some small flowers peeking through gaps in the stone, their leaves an exotic green, their white and yellow button faces a cheerful, childish imitation of the sun that would have been overhead.  

Essek hypothesized that the reason the spheres in this sector glowed so brightly was due to Aeorian sunlight captured within - its energy reflecting off the street, the people, any objects or plants - and trapped in that infinitesimal instant, forever.  They reminded Essek of decorative trinkets that were popular in the Dynasty: daylight flowers preserved in a blob of resin or glass. Ranging from the size of a plum to a melon depending on the wealth of the owner, they were illuminated from within by an enchantment, a symbol of the Luxon giving life to the earth.

This frozen Aeorian mage was like Essek’s very own preserved flower.  Not for religious vanity, but a symbol of learning, and innovation, and the collaboration that must have been flourishing in a city run by magic users.   A symbol of a world Essek would never be able to have.

Not the warmongering - there was plenty about Aeor he would not want to replicate - but a society of thinkers and creators and experimenters, unshackled from austerity and tradition?  To sit across from this man and talk openly of sacrilege?  Of progress?

“Well, I suppose sacrilege didn’t work out so well for you either, considering what happened here,” Essek concedes aloud. “But I can imagine your heyday, no?  The few books I have recovered speak of so much learning, so many projects - you can’t blame me for being wishful.  The last collaboration I tried… did not go so well for me, as you know.”  He bared his teeth in a bitter laugh.

The Aeorian mage listened to his words in silence and absolute stillness, just like he had all of Essek’s confessions.  Theft of the beacons, betrayal of his people, lying to the small band of adventurers who eventually became his friends… all of it, spoken into the dusty silence of the Praesidis ward, to ears that could not hear him. 

The perfect audience.

[epersonae]

for the fic title game! "hurry and happen to me"

I have been pondering this for I guess almost a week, and today it finally clicked:

there's something very pre-canon about that title, and what I'm imagining is a series of tiny vignettes of lots of different characters, and their various dissatisfactions/stagnations, so not just Ed and Stede (obvs), but Mary, Jim, Olu, Lucius, Pete, Frenchie, Fang, etc, etc (potential to be funny: the Swede, Buttons, Izzy)

catching a group of people all on the verge of being changed by the experience they're about to have together

and maybe the first one is Ed, very much bored and in his head on a raid, and then the last one is Stede standing outside of a boat-builder's shop? (I remain obsessed with the idea of a fic about Stede hiring that guy, like what is that even like)

[send me a made up fic title and I'll tell you what I'd write]

[kinnbig]

ooh trick or treet!! 🎃

hello beloved here is an ArmKhun flavoured treat for you from a lil oneshot WIP I've had in my drafts for way too long 👀💖

It's the third outfit that does it.

Really, Tankhun isn't sure why he's surprised. The outfit is to die for. Tankhun looks incredible in it. He should almost certainly have anticipated some kind of reaction.

Perhaps it's different because it's just the two of them this evening. Usually, a bigger turnout is inspired by Tankhun's Pre-Party Styling Parties (wherein the afternoon before any excursion to Hum Bar (or really, to any function that Tankhun might care to attend - he's branching out these days, he's even been on a boat) is spent drinking cocktails and grazing on canapés and, most importantly, showcasing all of Tankhun's potential looks for the evening) - but today Chay has an audition, and Kinn and Porsche are away on business, and Pol was called away after barely ten minutes of partying (because one of his frankly ridiculous number of sisters rudely decided to give birth during Tankhun's gathering, which for some ungodly reason required Pol's presence) - and so now there's just Arm.

Arm, leaning against the wall in Tankhun's bedroom, wearing a surprisingly tasteful (albeit uninspiring) sky-blue button-up and holding a cocktail glass that no longer has a cocktail in it - because the entirety of said cocktail now finds itself staining the front of the aforementioned sky-blue shirt.

Tankhun had just swept aside the curtains of his dressing room to reveal his new outfit (his favourite so far; sheer, slinky mesh on top that clings exquisitely across his chest and waist and yoga-toned abs, if he does say so himself; expertly paired with a pair of flowy, delicately-patterned trousers with gorgeous corset detailing on the waistband; heeled, glittery boots; and a selection of fine silver jewellery, including a stunning body-chain that fastens quite eye-catchingly against his throat and waist), and Arm had looked up as he entered and promptly spilled his drink all over himself.

The thing is, Arm doesn't really even seem to have noticed. His eyes have gone very wide, and Tankhun can feel them on him; feel the heat of Arm's gaze on his skin as it traverses over him; feel Arm taking in the dark smudge of kohl around his eyes, the cling of shimmery black mesh to his torso, the caress of the delicate silver chain against his throat and sternum and waist - and Tankhun knows he looks good, of course he does, but the way Arm is looking at him stirs something molten and exhilarating deep within his gut.His blood seems to crackle.

Arm wants him.

It creeps through his veins, heady and powerful and intoxicating. Arm wants him, and it's so incredibly, electrifyingly perfect, because Tankhun has wanted Arm since the night he took off his clothes in Yok's bar.

(Or at least, the night Arm took off his clothes in Yok's bar is when Tankhun first allowed himself to admit that he wanted Arm; an earnest agreement to Yok’s drunken, filthy confession, whispered through a conspiratorial grin into Tankhun's ear, "I'd let that bodyguard of yours do more than just guard my body, I'll tell you that much," - but in truth, if he thinks about it: it's been longer than that. Much longer.

If Tankhun is honest with himself, he knows that this clawing, aching want has been simmering inside of him for so long that it feels perfectly at home in his rib cage; woven into the very fibre of his being; part of every single cell in his body as if each one had been designed to contain it - as if deep down, at his core, Tankhun had been built to yearn. To long. Like this. For him.)

Now, Arm stares at him with unmistakable desire, and Tankhun stills, for a moment, and lets the thrill of it hum down his spine; shuddered and singing and stuttered like wind-chimes in the breeze.

And then he tuts. "Oh," he says, and Arm startles at the sound, his eyes snapping to meet Tankhun's before abruptly dropping again, embarrassed, a pink flush rising high on his cheekbones as he inspects the damage to his shirt, "this won't do at all."

✨🍬 fic writer ask box trick-or-treat! 🍬✨

[knightzp]

🌹 mizisua crumb 🤲

We were laying in the gardens like any other day, trying to compose our duet song for Alien Stage since the date is slowly coming closer, finally. We had a few good lines, but there was something fundamentally lacking into the song. I was thinking really hard about what it could be when you reached closer and placed one of the beautiful flowers surrounding us into my hair and you whispered “My clematis” into my ear. Your simple gesture and your voice, so soft, so tender, so… full of love, completely made me lose my focus in the song and I almost melted right there. I knew you were talking about the flower, but when I looked back at you your eyes were directly on mine and your smile, your sweet, beautiful smile I’ve been graced with countless times by now -and I’ll never, ever grow tired of seeing it- was easily showing on your lips. And that’s how I knew. The clematis was the flower you had put in my hair, but right then, you were talking about me.

[liviacardew]

🎁 festus creed!

yay! festus moodboard! (sorry this took me so long to answer btw 😭)

“She hated Festus and his boyish grin, his voice that made her shiver, his auburn curls that tickled her chin whenever the two had their late night escapades, and everything about him.”

– we know everything about us, @/vipsaniasickle on wp (on hold)

[theboost]

Going through old fanfic I’ve written that i will never finish and laughing my ass off I really am the funniest person alive

[ren-144p]

Hi! Silent admirer of your RE stuff (it's been so long since I've played these games, but you've been re-inspiring me!) - so I'm curious about "Madrid, 1996" for the WIP asks? 👀

ohh god— going for the only one legitimately named and simultaneously the one most unpolished bdhdjsjkl

as of right now, “Madrid, 1996” is a series of snippets intertwined with meta about itself and records of my convos with @bennidraws (which is what started it all!!), written somewhat as a branch of my luis study project. set entirely pre-games, it follows the story of Luis and Carlos who meet, by chance, at an Umbrella conference, and in two weeks develop a particularly deep relationship. Carlos falls in love with an older man freshly out of a personality crisis, Luis falls for a repressed boy who's just discovering himself for the first time, and both of them turn each other's world upside down. contains dog imagery, yearning, cigarettes, and—on many occasions—Carlos' dog tags clinking against Luis' cross

it's rough and unpolished and not even fully planned out, branching within itself into multiple endings. but i've been chipping away at it when i'm not working on anything else and i feel like eventually something will come out of it. too much love has been put into those conversations for the fic to amount to nothing ❤️

*

“They ever give you a break, soldier boy?”

Carlos turned towards the voice, surprised to see anyone out of the building at this hour, especially in such a downpour. It belonged to the same man he had seen earlier, except the well-cut suit was nowhere to be found, now replaced by an intricately decorated leather jacket and a pair of well-worn jeans. He held a single cigarette between his teeth and a lighter in one hand, looking at him with curiosity through the hair falling into his eyes; and chuckled, clearly having noticed Carlos' persistent gaze on him.

“You look like a rabbit in headlights,” he teased, weaving the lighter between skilled fingers. It lit up with a quiet click a moment later, and Carlos took a while to admire the way the flame illuminated the man's face when he leaned into the light.

"No breaks.” He watched how his thin lips curled around a puff of smoke. “The shifts are short though.”

The stranger hummed, as if amused by the answer, and leaned back comfortably against the wall before extending a pack of cigarettes towards Carlos.

“Care for a smoke?”

*

“You should come find me later, soldier boy. When your shift is done,” the man said, throwing the butt of his cigarette on the ground. “Room 102. On the fourth floor,” he added with a wink, turning back, but Carlos' hand wrapped around his wrist before he could go.

“Who am I asking for?”

The stranger smirked, leaning in so close their noses almost touched.

“Name's Luis,” he said, a teasing note in his voice. “And who am I waiting for?”

“Carlos.”

*

and, as a bonus, a bit of the relevant note i made for this part (and for what's supposed to follow)

something about the terrifying act of inviting a stranger to your room, something about that stranger being a soldier; something about being invited to a hotel room by a man older than you, and something about the confidence with which he does it.

the way every night spent with a stranger might've been your last; the way he didn't know if he was gonna wake up the next morning, and then he did—and then they both did.

[elysabeththequeene]

we'll be fine (for the wip ask game)

She opens her eyes after having fallen asleep with her head on his shoulder, resting through the sound of the railways and the train itself trying to catch up its own speed with the wind, Satine looks out the window, she’d never known she’d ever get this far out of Paris. She smiles at the sight of tiny houses passing by, with trees filled with leaves so green and gardens with flowers blooming as the sun shines on them. Maybe Christian and I could have a little garden of our own, she thinks and grins to herself at the thought of it, then reminds herself to tell him about it sooner or later.

WIP ask game

[dgshoe]

anonymous fic summary: phoenix wright is called in to defend a school from what appears to be a fishy lawsuit. however, when he gets there, he's caught off guard by the kids themselves. they all have weird powers ranging from being able to run fast to being able to create explosions with the tips of their fingers! and he thought *his* kids were weird... (AKA, the MHA x Phoenix Wright crossover you didn't know you needed)

Revival

Phoenix wasn't sure what had happened. One second he was walking out after a court victory, the next he was in a hospital bed. Then he walks out and 4 in every 5 people have a superpower of some kind.

It took a lot to impress him at his age, but boy did the universe deliver.

And now he needs to defend a superhero school from lawsuits by the... "totally not evil" government body that says people can't have stuff that solves the problems related to their superpowers unless their life is at risk.

That Katsuki kid may have a dirty mouth, but Phoenix knows he wouldn't kill someone; not when his childhood friend was so adamant about it.

Answers about his predicament could wait; Phoenix had an investigation to run.

[attapullman]

Mo-Mo a very Happy Early Birthday!!!!!! I hope I'm not too early though (lol) 🎂🤠🐮🐄

Thank you, Mary!! Not too early at all - only 3.5 more hours until I'm officially a year older!

You seem like the perfect person to unleash some Rhett on! It’s been a long three days in Wabang. This stupid rodeo in his hometown that couldn’t be missed to qualify. Royal and Cecelia insisting you stay on the ranch with them versus the motel outside town. Their son too beaten down to fight them despite a year away. Your strong-thighed cowboy qualifying, promising you’d leave this morning. Only for his father to ask for help with one fence and suddenly it’s late in the afternoon, cornbread is cooking, and you’re helping to set cracked porcelain plates and water-stained glasses on the worn kitchen table. Rhett’s sheepish gaze when he came in, sweat-slicked from the Wyoming sun, knowing his mistake without your reminder. Those deep sapphire eyes asking for forgiveness you always gave. In any other setting you enjoy the hustle of the ranch. Animals to tend to, a home to bring warmth into, and the endless errands to keep it all running. Your own home, a tiny clapboard barely larger than Rhett’s truck, was always humming with activity. And animals. You weren’t sure how your boyfriend kept bringing home creatures to care for in the cramped living room. Bags were being loaded into the truck already when Rhett finally decided that the finch he’d rescued in the driveway was strong enough to fly by itself. Released into the wild as he brought the ancient pickup to life for the long drive.

send me a 🎂

[stabbyfoxandrew]

CAN'T BE IGNORING THAT WINKY FACE!

Kevin's Crown ;) - @jtl-fics

OKAY so Kevin's Crown ;) is a barely started kandreil fic in which it's Kevin's birthday. And Nicky jokingly gets him one of those plastic kids' tiaras to wear while they're out at Eden's or wherever they're going. (I don't know man I'm not drivin this fic.) Anyway,,, Kevin immediately throws it in the floor and grumbles about how stupid that is. And Nicky is heartbroken.

"Oh come onnnnnnnnn! You're the one who wants to be a queen, wear your crown!!!!!"

Kevin refuses, of course. And the foxes, after they stop bullying him, start chattering about something else. And while they aren't paying attention, Andrew picks the crown up and hands it to Kevin, who scoffs.

But then Andrew tells him if he keeps it on all night he and Neil will give him the royal treatment. Kevin isn't sure what that means, but he sort of Wants To Know. So Neil takes the crown out of his hands and puts it on him, calling Kev 'your majesty'. And they go out and Kevin has to keep his crown on. And then... smut :)

🕊️WIP Ask Game🕊️

[acorrespondence]

By chapter, so we'll start with Miami Part 1:

Raylan watches him as he comes, and it quickens Boyd’s blood to hold his gaze. It sometimes feels as though everything Boyd’s ever done was somehow rooted in the effort to get those eyes on him. Every time he kicked the back of Raylan’s chair in the first grade, or stood up to read aloud in sophomore English class; the first time he put his hands down Raylan’s pants, and the three months he spent talking Raylan into the second child Boyd had been seeing for a year in the wink of Raylan’s eye. His entire life fishing with dynamite, trying to get Raylan’s attention, a reaction, twisting himself into the catalyst for some spark behind Raylan’s eyes—anger or interest or the quick, fierce joy that sometimes lights his face for a fleeting moment, before he can think to tamp it down.

Boyd rolls off of Raylan when he starts to go restless underneath him, and Raylan turns promptly belly-down to bury his face. “‘M sorry,” Raylan mumbles into his pillow.

Boyd sighs and rubs Raylan’s back, like he does for the kids when they’re sick or sad—the way his mama used to do for him, her hands hard from the washing and soft with love. “We’ll be all right, Raylan,” he murmurs. Raylan doesn’t buck him off the way he might normally do, doesn’t snap at him or launch up in a huff, leaving Boyd alone in the bed. He only lets Boyd do this when they’ve just had sex, so he can blame the oxytocin and still pretend that excuse holds water. But he accepts Boyd’s gentling hands right now, and it’s enough to be getting on with.

Thank you so much for sending this! I’m really excited to get to the rest of your asks :) My pretty consistent headcanon for these guys is that they really weren’t all that close in high school. For this au, I went with the idea that they were friends in first grade, possibly also kindergarten and part of the second grade, but then their daddies had a falling out and they drew pretty abruptly apart as a result. I think it also probably had to do with Raylan getting into baseball—second grade is around the age when kids move from t-ball to Little League, and so Raylan would have been getting more serious about it—and Raylan becaming aware of the fact that he’s always been sort of infatuated with Boyd, which scares him. But I think throughout this time, Boyd still craved his attention, and it became almost a challenge for him to get it when Raylan was clearly trying so hard not to be drawn back into his orbit. Once they’re down in the mines, Raylan is too scared to use much energy keeping his distance from Boyd and so stops resisting his pull and they come back together. Boyd thrives off of attention, and he prizes Raylan’s attention above most if not all. He also loves a challenge, and Raylan spends so much time tamping down on his emotions that Boyd feels triumphant when he inspires emotions too strong to be repressed; he also likes to feel special, and loves being the one to get Raylan to actually express emotions besides those on the pissed-off side of the scale.

It’s very, very hard for Raylan to apologize because it means admitting fault, and being at fault was a very dangerous thing, in Arlo Givens’ house. He logically knows Boyd isn’t going to react that way but is afraid he will, and so he has a hard time not resenting Boyd for his gentleness, since he gets mad at himself for feeling relief because of it. He hates the proof that his own fear is not—well—justified. Meanwhile, Boyd remembers being comforted by his mother’s gentleness, so he offers it up anyway, to his kids and Raylan: at least as much as Raylan will let him. And Raylan does appreciate the gentleness, even if he doesn’t like what that says about him and so ends up trying to duck it most of the time. But Raylan letting Boyd comfort him, even if taking comfort is—ironically—uncomfortable for him, is itself a show of love. He has the tacit excuse of the touch being more about sex and closeness than comfort, which makes it easier. And so they both ultimately get what they need from this interaction, which is an illustration of why they work together, I think.

I’m also really proud of the last sentence of the first paragraph, it came together exactly as I wanted it to.

[jonathanbyersphd]

🥤🍬 🪲

<3

Hi thanks for the ask!

🥤- pas de deux by @leslie057 had me in a chokehold when I read it. It's soooo entrancing??? Like I was hooked

🍬 Eddie Munson is Jonathan Byers for people who don't get Jonathan Byers

🪲 (this was so difficult)

Admittedly, Jonathan isn't really paying too close attention in Bio. Nancy lightly tapped his foot about ten minutes ago and he's been distractedly playing footsies since. And if that wasn't bad enough she decided to do the flirty glance thing where they pretend they're not looking at each other. Which usually means they're going to spend independent study in the dark room. So yea, the last thing on his mind is his lesson.