#nicht whumptober

[pointwhitmark]

Random WIP -snipet:

"Ich würde sagen, wir bleiben so nahe an der Realität wie möglich.”, sagte Goodween und fragte sich, ob Cotta hörte, wie belegt seine Stimme war, “Wir sind schon lange Kollegen und Freunde und irgendwann ist es etwas mehr geworden.”

[manahiel]

Der Mann ohne Gesicht - Kapitel 3 ist jetzt online :)

_________________________________________

Der Mann ohne Gesicht (32160 words) by Manahiel Chapters: 3/10 Fandom: The Three Investigators | Die drei ??? - Various Authors Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Characters: Inspector Cotta (Three Investigators), Jupiter Jones | Justus Jonas, Pete Crenshaw | Peter Shaw, Bob Andrews, Goodween (The Three Investigators), Robert Donatelli, Samuel Reynolds (The Three Investigators), Caroline Cotta, E. Skinner Norris, Dylan Parks Additional Tags: Cotta fakes his own death, i repeat: Cotta is not actually dead!, but it's treated like he is for a good chunk of the fic, Case Fic, Angst with a Happy Ending, Funerals, Secret Organizations, Murder, Blood, FBI-Agents, Slow Updates, tags will be updated as the fic progresses Summary:

Inspektor Cotta ist tot. Als die drei Fragezeichen die Einladung zu seiner Beerdigung erhalten, bricht für sie eine Welt zusammen. Doch als sie tiefer in den Fall eintauchen, in den Cotta verwickelt war, geraten sie selbst in Lebensgefahr und decken das Unmögliche auf…

[str4wanzerin]

Autor:innen gesucht

Der Oktober steht vor der Tür und somit auch der Whumptober. Bisher zwei Mitstreiterinnen und ich wollten einen Fanfiction-Marathon zu Deutschen Krimiserien ins Leben rufen, weil wir aber alle nicht so viel Zeit haben, wie letztes Jahr, suchen wir noch nach Unterstützung.

Wir würden eine Serie auf AO3 machen, unter der alle ihre Stories hochladen und es sind alle Krimis erlaubt!

Bei Interesse schicke ich euch gern die Prompt-Liste :)

[kathastrophen]

Jahresend-Fanfic-Fragerunde

Da es diese Fragebögen irgendwie immer nur auf Englisch gibt und ich einige Fragen oft nur mäßig interessant finde, hab ich mal einen auf Deutsch zusammengestellt.

Viel Spaß mit den Fragen und ganz viel Motivation und Inspiration für's neue Jahr! ✨

Wie viele Worte hast du dieses Jahr geschrieben und veröffentlicht?

Wie viele Fics hast du dieses Jahr veröffentlicht?

Auf welche Fic bist du besonders stolz (unabhängig von hits und kudos)?

Wie viele Kudos hast du dieses Jahr erhalten?

Welche sind deine drei populärsten Fics dieses Jahr? (entweder nach hits oder kudos)

Welche Fic hat dieses Jahr die meisten Kommentare erhalten?

Welche Fic hast du am schnellsten geschrieben?

Bei welcher Fic hat das Schreiben am längsten gedauert?

Wie viele WIPs nimmst du mit ins nächste Jahr? (Mach uns gerne neugierig!)

Welche deiner Fics, die du dieses Jahr geschrieben hast, verdient mehr Aufmerksamkeit?

Gibt es Fics, die du schreiben wolltest, aber es doch nicht getan hast?

Eine Fic mit der du nicht gerechnet hast, sie zu schreiben?

Welche Fic hat überraschendes oder überraschend viel Feedback bekommen?

Über welchen Charakter hast du am liebsten geschrieben?

Welcher Charakter hat dir das meiste Kopfzerbrechen bereitet?

Über welchen Charakter / welches Pairing willst du nächstes Jahr unbedingt schreiben?

Zu welchem Pairing hast du dieses Jahr am meisten geschrieben?

Welches ist dein Pairing des Jahres?

Welches ist dein Fandom des Jahres? (Und warum?)

Welcher Titel ist dein Liebster?

Deine Lieblingszeile/-Szene, die du dieses Jahr geschrieben hast?

Welche deiner eigenen Fics hast du dieses Jahr wieder und wieder gelesen?

Was hast du dieses Jahr übers Schreiben gelernt?

Hast du an Challenges/Exchanges oder anderen Fandom-Events teilgenommen? (z.B. whumptober u.Ä., Beiträge zu Zines, nanowrimo)

Hast du Fics als Geschenke geschrieben oder erhalten?

Was hast du dieses Jahr übers Schreiben gelernt?

Dein liebster*s Song/Album/Künstler*in, den*die du beim Schreiben hörst?

Hast du eine eigene Playlist für eine Fic oder einen Charakter?

Eine Fic, die du dieses Jahr gelesen hast und die alle lesen sollten.

Dein liebstes Non-Fanfic Fanwork? (Von dir selbst oder anderen.)

Was ich dich zu dieser einen Fic schon immer mal fragen wollte:

[daughterofhecata]

Kaj's Kink January #3

Es ist wieder so weit!

Einige von euch erinnern sich sicherlich noch an das Spiel, für alle anderen: Ich habe a) sehr viel Spaß an monatlichen Writing Challenges, b) nicht immer einen besonders guten Zugang zu den offiziellen Kinktober Prompts, zumal ich mich im Oktober auch noch um Flufftober und Whumptober kümmere, und c) Spaß daran, kinky Porn in allen möglichen Zusammensetzungen zu schreiben, deswegen will ich wieder versuchen, im Januar jeden Tag ein mehr oder weniger kinky, mehr oder weniger smutty Ficlet zu posten (vermutlich wieder zu je 700 Wörtern) und bitte dafür um Prompts! Jeder im DDF Fandom ist herzlich eingeladen, sich zu beteiligen!

Ich hab ein Dokument erstellt, wo ihr Prompts eintragen könnt, das vermutlich bis ~Mitte/Ende November offen sein wird. Jede Bearbeitung ist vollkommen anonym, also tobt euch aus. Da wir ja doch ein relativ kleiner, gut erzogener Fandom sind, hoffe ich einfach mal, dass nicht irgendein Witzbold Blödsinn damit macht.

Link zum Dokument

Prompts via ask, reply oder DM sind natürlich auch okay!

(Wer zu einem prompt etc seinen Username/ao3 name added, würde das ganze auch als gift bekommen, aber das ist euch überlassen.)

[ao3feed-narlie]

Foul

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/X7cRWPx by mj_s98 Der brünette Junge mit den Locken sah sich um. Das Spiel ging nicht mehr lang, keine 5 Minuten mehr, und dennoch breitete sich ein ungutes Gefühl in ihm aus, welches mit jeder Sekunde stärker wurde … Urplötzlich tauchte der Ball in seinem Blickfeld auf. Charlies Muskeln spannten sich an, er machte sich bereit den Ball zu fangen und loszurennen, als ohne Vorwarnung Nick vor ihm auftauchte. Der ältere Junge schnappte sich den Ball, warf seinem Freund einen Blick zu, den dieser nicht ganz deuten konnte, und rannte davon. Bevor er jedoch weit kam, rauschte ein dunkler Schatten knapp an Charlie vorbei, Nick dicht auf den Fersen, und tackelte ihn zu Boden. --- Nicht jede Rugby-Mannschaft spielt fair. Das muss Nick am eigenen Leib erfahren. Words: 2138, Chapters: 1/1, Language: Deutsch Series: Part 6 of Whumptober - Nick & Charlie Edition (Heartstopper) Fandoms: Heartstopper (TV) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: M/M Characters: Nicholas "Nick" Nelson, Charles "Charlie" Spring (Heartstopper), Mrs. Singh (Heartstopper), Original Characters Relationships: Nicholas "Nick" Nelson/Charles "Charlie" Spring Additional Tags: Rugby, Broken Bones, Nicholas "Nick" Nelson has Strong Rugby Arms, Rugby Player Nicholas "Nick" Nelson, Hurt Nicholas "Nick" Nelson, Injury, Worried Charles "Charlie" Spring (Heartstopper), Protective Charles "Charlie" Spring (Heartstopper), Protective Nicholas "Nick" Nelson, Hurt/Comfort, Whump, Whumptober, Whumptober 2024, One Shot, Nicholas "Nick" Nelson-Centric, Homophobia read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/X7cRWPx

[mordsfesch]

Wenn diese Episode nicht Material für Fanfics bietet, dann weiß ich auch nicht

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Didn’t Make It

CW: Beating, failed escape, dehumanization, pet whump

Death Valley | Lüge | Welcome Home | 

For @whumptober 2022, Day 14 15, and 16 - Failed escape and Breathing through the pain, plus “No one’s coming”

-

Ranchers Rest, California, 2003

Finn made it to the door.

He had one hand out on the front step, feeling the warmth of the sun on the concrete, before his head exploded in pain and he slumped to the ground. 

"I'm very disappointed in you, Mouse," Robert said, his voice a growl against Finn's back. 

"Nein," Finn groaned, struggling to push himself back up, digging his fingernails into the bottom of the doorframe, the strip of metal all that separated him from the outdoors, from freedom, maybe from rescue. 

Vision blurry, he didn't understand at first why there was red splattered over the doormat now, not until something ran into his eye and stung. Only then did he understand that it was blood. 

A clatter of something falling with a thump as Robert dropped it was following by Robert's fingers twisting into Finn's hair, yanking backwards so his chin was pulled harshly up.

 Finn frantically shook his head, trying to dislodge the grip. His broken leg throbbed from being dragged behind him, the homemade splint of cheap plywood and gauze and rope scratching against exposed skin. "Nein, nicht! Lass mich gehen!" 

Wide-eyed, he stared out at the perfect normal sidewalk leading to the street on a perfectly normal afternoon. He could see a house across the street, a car in the driveway. 

He screamed. His voice cracked, desperate, as his heart pounded against the ground. 

"Hilf mir!"

"Shut the fuck up!" Robert's hand clapped over Finn's mouth as he hissed into his ear. 

His fingers smelled like motor oil and diesel gasoline, pushing Finn's lips painfully into his teeth. Finn's stomach turned and he coughed, fighting the bile trying to rise in his throat, reaching up with one hand to grab and pull, trying to free himself, screaming still. 

It was all muffled nonsense, and Robert used the grip on his hair and mouth to pull him roughly backwards, kicking the door shut as he fell backwards, Finn a thrashing blur in his arms. 

The door slammed with a thunk that was the only thing louder than Finn's heartbeat. 

The bright afternoon daylight dropped instantly back into the musty dim yellow that came through Robert's ancient curtains. 

Tears burned in Finn's eyes, he kept clawing uselessly at the hand over his mouth, kicking out with his good leg. He got a good hit against Robert's ankle, the man letting out a howl of pain as his hands instinctively jerked back. 

Finn threw himself forward, towards the door, but Robert landed on his back a half-second later.

His chin bounced off the ground, teeth clicking together and pain ricocheting like a bullet through his skin. 

 The carpet was cool and sticky-rough on his stomach and hips. Too familiar a feeling by now.

Robert leaned over, Finn groaning at the weight, struggling to take a deep breath against the pressure. 

Robert's breath smelled like barbecue, whatever he'd eaten for lunch. "What the fuck was that, little Mouse? That isn't our routine." 

The coarse fabric of his mechanic's coveralls rubbed agonizingly into raw welts layered over the younger man's back and thighs, stinging pain like his body was on fire. 

Finn sobbed, letting his aching head drop so his forehead pressed into the carpet. "Let me go," He pleaded, voice cracking, barely audible. "Bitte, bitte, nicht…"

"You're damn lucky that Mrs. Meyer across the road has to see her cardiologist today," Robert said, nuzzling against Finn's ear, listening to him cry. "Otherwise she’d have been home... and you'd be dead already. Plus, I’d have to kill her and make it look accidental. Aren’t you tired of getting people killed, little Mouse?”

Finn thought  - he had endless nightmares about - the look on the face of the hotel manager before Robert had shot him, and he went limp once again. 

Robert pushed himself up, stepping on Finn's splinted leg with a heavy work boot until the man let out a wail at the pain and pressure pushing into the fractured bone. 

He waited until Finn's cries softened, listening to him breathing in carefully slow inhales and exhales, forcing himself to keep breathing through overwhelming throbbing agony. Finn fought his stomach, twisting around nothing, forced himself not to vomit on the carpet, knowing he'd be the one who had to clean it. 

Then, once he knew Finn could hear, Robert did up the locks, one by one. 

"I know it's hard," Robert said, in a tone of rational, reasonable understanding. "This isn't your country. These aren't your people. And nobody's coming for you, because no one knows where you are. I get that. But if I see you within six feet of that door again, I'll cut your feet and hands off."

Finn slowly looked up at him, his face smeared with drying tear tracks and blood. Red still clumped his hair together where Robert had hit him with the tire iron lying on the floor nearby. "My… hands-"

"You don't need hands to crawl like a good dog," Robert said. "Or feet either. Keep that in mind. Not that you're a dog, but… well. How many feet do mice need, you think?"

Finn slumped, all the fight gone out of him at once. The sticky carpet rubbed across his forehead, the smell of carpet shampoo never quite washed out only barely covering the sickly scent of the dead from the basement below.

Robert grinned and had a beer on the couch. He sat with his boots digging into Finn’s back.

When Finn started to cry, Robert sighed and turned the volume up on the TV.

-

For whumptober: @whumpworld 

Finn tag list:  @astrobly @finder-of-rings @burtlederp @whumperfully @pigeonwhumps  @squishablesunbeam  @darkthingshappen @whumper-soot  @pumpkin-spice-whump @pardonmekreature  ask if you want to be added to the taglist

[septic-dr-schneep]

Whumptober #18: Panic Attack

“Splendor. Hey, it’s going to be okay,” James murmured worriedly. “Try to breathe. I know it’s scary, believe me, I know, but you’re gonna get through this.”

“Nein, nein!” With a reedy, broken wail Splendor ducked his head under trembling arms, a pitiful shield against whatever blow he expected to come. The scars were already there to prove it had been necessary at some point before. “Ein Trick, eine Lüge…Du bist nicht echt!”

German was largely uncharted territory, but his actions spoke for themselves. A lump formed in James’ throat at the sight. “Splendor, I need you to focus here, on this moment. No one’s going to hurt you. No one else is here right now, just you and me. Please, tell me what I can do to help.”

[its-percival-not-percy]

Whumptober Day 11

Cherik, actually. I’ll post the other stories here soon, since I started uploading on ao3 I start to feel a chaos and ... yeah. So, be patient with me. Whumptober Day 11 - stitches. Erik doesn’t have the best memories concerning needles.

"Erik! This is nonsense, come on!" 

Because Raven died, Jeanne is gone, he failed, he lost them, couldn't protect either of them. He is impatient, nervous. Pissed. Worried. Worried as hell. And Erik is not reasonable. He knows he has his boundaries, but the helmet is gone, he can feel him being in pain. He is also not blind, the blood is also visible on the shirt as a wet stain. On Erik's hands and he really, really badly wants to ust knock him out and make Hank look at this, but no, of course he won't do that. But Jeanne hit Erik with… something and it's a miracle that Erik is still on his feet somehow, pure stubbornness keeping him upright. 

"I can fend for myself - care for your students, Charles, I am not one of them!"

"Yes, I know, because the are reasonable, I can talk to them if they're doing something stupid Also, they really know when they're bleeding out, Erik!"

"Charles, I am not bleeding out, it's a scratch and-" Whatever he wants to say next gets cut off as Adrenalin, stubbornness or whatever else kept him upright this long leaves abruptly and his posture falters. His shoulders slumping and he has to steady himself against the wall, sitting down on the stones of the broken building a second later. 

Charles swallow a comment as a wave washes over him. Erik isn’t stubborn. He is scared. He doesn’t know if this is worse, but he wheels himself closer. 

"I-" He corrects himself immediately. "We, we just lost Raven. Jeanne. Please, don't make me lose you too. I know… I can feel that you are scared…" He wants to grab the hand that Erik is not currently pressing to his side, but he doesn't, catching himself as the thought crosses his mind. The next moment he is not sure if it is his own. 

"I don't have to look into your head, Erik. I can feel your pain without, I can see it. Let me… Just please, let us help. I won't make you do anything. But you're hurt and…" There is a silent I love you on his lips and he let's it stay there. It was too long ago. Erik had had a family in between, a life. It had been years since they even saw each other. He couldn't expect anything now. Not after all that happened, happened today. The are both hurt, tired, he can't bring him into this situation now. 

He hopes but doesn't expect the look of silent defeat on Erik's face and just nods. It's difficult for him to admit, and he knows from before that he doesn't deal well with being hurt. Worse than- no. 

He calls Hank over who gently lifts the shirt while Erik looks away, stiff as a wooden board he sits there on the stones, eyes open but far away. 

"I need to stitch this up and get a look at it properly, preferably in the manson. I'll give you something for the pain and-"

"I'm fine. Save it for the others. Just put a bandage on it and I'll be fine." Charles groans and Hank shoots him a look. 

"No way. This is serious - I'm serious. You can bleed out from this or get an infection, this already looks bad." 

"Erik!" I don't want to lose you too. I can't lose you too. I just can't. 

"No painkillers. Charles?" He pushes himself up where Hank has to steady him a moment later, carefully bringing one arm over his shoulder. It would be a victory that he let's him help, that they are allowed to touch him, but Charles doesn't feel that way. He is too worried, too tired, too hurt and he has too many thoughts in his head to feel more than a silent wave of relief. His own thank you echoes in his head. Stubbornness may have saved Eriks life multiple times, but here, home, with Charles he still thinks it necessary, and Charles doesn’t want to imagine why. The helmet was just a different kind of mask, and now, right here, there is none. He stays away from his feelings, but he still gets them. There will be time for that later, he hopes, later, when everything is over. When they both had some rest they could talk. He wants to convince Erik to stay, this time. Just for a while. He had tried that many times over the last years, but everytime Erik left. He tries not to remember Cuba too vivid. 

He is not prepared of what follows. 

It’s the bloodloss, that triggers it. They are in the plane and Charles keeps tabs on everyone. And everyone is just as tired as he is. But the steady flow of thoughts that surrounds him like background noise he doesn’t have to listen into is wrong, suddenly. A deep wrong feeling is all he gets as he concentrates on the person near the wall, sitting half slumped against a box of medical supplies. When was the last time he saw him sleeping? He tries to remember and nearly fails. So long ago when they were both different people. Before Cuba. There is one memory, after the whole ordeal with apocalypse, when Erik calmed down from what Hank had called his “metal trip”, when Erik all but collapsed on their way home, but it had been different. It wasn’t sleep. He looked pale and clammy, his skin nearly transparent, shadows under his eyes and unmoving - it hits him a second later. Just like now. 

“Erik?” He tries, verbal, sitting up straighter from his own spot on the floor, with a sponsored blanket far more comfortable than any seat as he really just felt like lying down. 

There is no answer, and he reaches out to a muddled confusion he doesn’t dare to disturb as exhausted as he is. Eriks thoughts tend to overwhelm him when he is not careful, in a way he doesn’t completely understand. Not even after all this time.

He drags himself to the other side of their area, a few feet only, his blanket in tow without realizing it. 

“Erik!” He grabs his hand. Cold. “No no no… Erik, come on, open your eyes!” He gets a silent grunt in return but nothing more. Hank! I need you back here, it’s Erik! It takes him only a moment to spot the red that seeped into Eriks trousers and dripped to the floor where the boxes are. Hank slithers to the floor next to them and puts a hand on his pulse. It unnecessary to look at the wound now that they can both see the blood, but Charles still has to swallow and close his eyes for a moment. He should have insisted, right the moment it became clear that Erik was very much not fine. Not… let him have his will and get a bandage and just sit down in the plane until they are back at the manson. 

“He’s lost too much blood, I need to stitch this up.” Hank is already moving, grabbing the blanket from Charles, who tries his best to help move Erik entirely to the floor. He has Eriks head on his knees and leans against the wall himself for support. He watches Hank preparing a needle and cleaning the wound, as suddenly, the man in his lap twitches. Just a bit, his head moving, his eyes struggling to open. Hank pays this no mind and Charles wants to move his arms to keep Erik down if it comes to it, but his eyes stay closed and he… talks. 

“Nein, lass das…” Charles doesn’t understand a word, but he also doesn’t have to. He is only half conscious, laying here, vulnerable. God knows what he things where he is. What memory this brings back. 

“Erik, It’s okay. You are safe, Hank needs to take a quick look at your wound.” 

“Ich habe- ich kann es doch nicht. Ich kann es nicht, es tut mir leid aber-” He stops and begins moving more. 

“Lass mich!” and then, much quieter. “Bitte…” Charles feels bile rising up in his throat. He doesn’t need to know what he is saying, he doesn’t need any confirmation. He gets it without a word in his language. He feels it in a wave of thoughts and feelings. Loss, dread, shame and he stops counting it after it. He leans forward and puts both hands on Eriks shoulders, one to keep him down and second to lean his forehead against his. I’m here. God Erik I’m here, it’s okay…He swallows hard. Erik is still here. He has to tell this to himself multiple times, after- after-

There is no response as Erik is too far gone. 

It is… not pretty. The thrashing and talking, becoming quiet murmurs and tears when Charles forced Erik to lay still, tears in his own face, Hanks tight and his eyes keeping on the wound. It only takes minutes, but it could be hours and Charles wouldn’t know the difference. Erik is sobbing in his leg when Hank finally puts the needle away. Charles doesn’t want to know what he says or thinks, keeps up his own shields and tries to keep away as far as possible. He has to, or the emotions would overwhelm him again as they nearly did before. It’s different with Erik, it always has been, and he doesn’t know if it’s a good or bad thing. He strokes strands of wet hair away from Eriks forehead, cleans his face to wipe the tears away. Hank does… something, talks about fluids and how Erik needs a transfusion when they are home, but Charles only nods and listens with less attention than he gives Eriks face. His eyes are screwed shut, still, and the tears keep coming even now. It hurts, it hurts him on a deep level he can’t explain. From long ago, when they were still sitting on the stairs and playing chess. Nothing was okay or easy back then, but they were still together and… 

He reaches out a mental hand, careful and softly. He doesn’t want to scare him, or trigger the wave of memories that he can feel are just held back by pure stubbornness. 

I’m here, Erik. You can relax now, I’ve got you. It takes a moment. Two, until there is a slight, quiet and careful reply. Just a thought, manifesting out of the chaos. It’s like the day they met, underwater. When he saved his life. 

Charles? Charles, I can’t- He can’t move, can’t control the pain, can’t do anything, Charles saw to that. And it pains him that it is better that way.

It’s okay. Please rest, we’ll talk later. Much later. Much later he hopes. 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Translations: 

“No, don’t”

“I have- I can’t do it. I can’t do it, I’m sorry, but-”

“Leave me! … Please…”

[pointwhitmark]

Aktueller Plotbunny: Cotta hat in jungen Jahren "weil er das Geld brauchte" an einem Pornodreh teilgenommen.

Frage ist nur, wer dieses Video jetzt in die Hände bekommt und ob es nicht lieber bis nach dem whumptober warten sollte.

[kyokokiki]

Whumptober

Ich war mir erst nicht sicher ob ich es hochlade, weil ich nicht genau wusste wo. Bis mir eingefallen ist, hier wäre perfekt. Deswegen reiche ich die ersten Tage heute nach ^^ Also Whumptober Tag 1  Etwas Außergewöhnliches Es war ein stürmischer Tag. Liz war allein in ihrer Wohnung und zündete gerade ihre Lieblings-Duftkerze an. Wonach sie roch wusste sie nicht, aber solange sie gut roch, war es ihr auch egal. Nun wo es langsam dunkel wurde und sie den Wind draußen toben hörte, war es an der Zeit sich mit einer Tasse Tee und einem gutem Buch in ihren Sessel zu setzen. Sich einkuschelnd war sie bereit den Tag ausklingen zu lassen. Alles war perfekt. Nichts war besser als ein guter Sturm, schummeriges Licht und eine Welt in die sie sich hinein lesen konnte. Tief versunken bekam sie gar nicht mit, was sich über ihr abspielte. Es gab nur sie und ihr Buch, während sich ein Paar in der Wohnung über ihr anschrie. Er deutlich lauter als sie. Er brüllte, sie kreischte zurück. Ein Poltern. Heulender Wind. Stille. So als wäre nichts gewesen, trank Liz einen Schluck von ihrem Tee, blätterte auf die nächste Seite und war gefesselt von den Buchstaben auf dem Papier.

[str4wanzerin]

Tag 9 des Krimi-Whumptobers kommt etwas später, war gestern nicht ganz fit. Meine erste Erdmann/Schwab-Fanfiction :)

[pointwhitmark]

WIP word game

Tagged by @daughterofhecata Thank you!

Rules: you will be given a word. share one sentence/excerpt from your wip(s) that start with each letter of that word. The word is ORCHID

Ohne Goodween zu konsultieren hatten Donatelli und Cotta beschlossen, dass es keiner von ihnen überleben würde, sich mit Goodween ein Zimmer oder gar ein Bett zu teilen.

(Cotta/Donatelli both have thing for Goodween)

Reynolds bereute einige Entscheidungen in seinem Leben. Wie viele Menschen. Doch am meisten bereute er die letzte Nacht.

(Whumptober)

Caroline schrie. Schrill und panisch. Kurz darauf waren die Schreie nur noch gedämpft zu hören. Er hielt ihr die Hand vor den Mund.

(Whumptober)

"Hey, ich freu mich für euch.” “Ich nicht.”, mischte sich Kershaw ein, der bislang geschwiegen und Zeitung gelesen hatte.

Cotta und Donatelli sahen ihn an. Er klappte den oberen Teil der Zeitung herunter - ein move, den er sicherlich heimlich übte- und sah seine beiden Kollegen an.

(Mondphasen)

„Ich bin froh, dass er tot ist!“ Skinny sprach zu laut und mit viel Spucke. Cotta klopfte ihm beruhigend auf die Schulter.

(Whumptober)

„Du vergisst alles, was du mitbekommen hast. Du fährst nach Hause und wenn jemand fragt, hast du einen Spaziergang gemacht. Nächste Woche zur gleichen Zeit bist du wieder hier.“

(Whumptober)

whoever has WIPs and things to share:

Word: EVENT

[daughterofhecata]

12, 15, 23, 45? ☺️

[questions for fic writers]

Danke!

12. Are there any tropes you used to dislike but have grown on you?

uuuuh. I've grown A Lot more comfortable with age gaps over the years, I think? Really worried about shipping the boys with the adults in the beginning, but I've obviously gotten over that xD This year's whumptober is probably also going to see a lot more Major Character Death, which I've mostly avoided so far.

15. What’s your favorite AU that you’ve written?

This is a HARD decision, since the Coffeeshop AU, the Mafia AU and the Dad!Skinny AU are all very close to my heart. But ultimately it's a tie between the Dad AU and the Mafia AU, I think - and I do have definite plans to both finish the Dad AU and the three/four sequels to the Mafia AU I've been working on on and off.

23. What’s a trope, AU, or concept you’ve never written, but would like to?

Just answered, but also, after this year's Kink January I've been thinking about doing something with Dom!Justus/sub!Skinny, but uh. haven't gotten around to it yet. (as with so many things.)

45. What’s something you’ve improved on since you started writing fic?

Lots of things. (Nicht Kommasetzung tho, probably to @/crazy-walls' Leidwesen) Mostly I'm slowly learning to actively *do* things with my style/word choice/etc instead of just writing the way I think. (The active working with style is confined to singular projects tho because uuuh can't be bothered for most fic. Most stylized are definitely "because hell is empty" and "Necessary Tragedies")