#probably i will end up doing a wip wednesday in a couple days

[fischlcatgirl]

currently writing a fic where i will definitely want to know the unreconciled stars lore for it but like. i was like three patches late for unreconciled stars. i already have seen the Cooler Scaramouche. i dont want to go try and look for a video of someone playing through the event story from like 1 million years ago. EVEN if it means seeing fischl. like PLEASE i havent even played the new archon quest because im too busy doing things like having a job and being on tumblr. i dont have time to go back and catch up on the sky is fake hour i just want to write about terrible things happening to the characters i love and klee blowing people up

[ladykailitha]

Paper Hearts Part 6

The sequel is coming along great I just have one more part to do and it'll be done. Sweet Home Indiana is nearing its end too.

Heads up! I will be going on vacation on Tuesday and won't be back until next week. So no WIP Wednesday this week as that is the day of my niece's graduation and I will be away from laptop all day.

I will still be uploading chapters and should be able to do WIP Wednesday next week. But if not I'll let you know.

In this we have the Corroded Coffin boys being silly and a wild Dustin appears.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

****

Eddie rolled up to band practice fashionably late as always. The other three boys were doing a sound check and making sure everything was in order.

Gareth looked up first. “Did you bring the hearts?” he asked excitedly.

Eddie held up his bag and the other boys cheered.

“So how are we going to do this?” Eddie asked flopping on the sofa after gently setting his sweetheart to the side. “Do we want to do the hearts first or practice first?”

They all look around at each for a moment.

“Let’s get the heart thing out of the way,” Jeff suggested, “get it out of the way so we can focus on practicing.”

“Sounds good to me, man,” Gareth said. “In case practice runs over or some shit.”

Eddie pulled his backpack closer and began digging through it. He pulled out the hearts that he’d put in a plastic baggie so they wouldn’t get bent in the maw that was his bag.

He tossed the bag onto the table in front of them and then dug around for his notebook. He pulled it out with a bunch of pens.

“You don’t have to,” he murmured, “but I’d recommend changing up your handwriting a couple of times so he doesn’t realize they’re from the same four people.”

“We were doing anonymous and initials, right?” Brian asked, picking up the bag and opening it up.

Eddie lit up, a huge smile on his face. “I actually had an idea about that. I was thinking of famous groups with four dudes in it and I thought it would be hilarious if we mixed it up a bit with some of those to avoid the whole repetition thing.”

Jeff licked his top lip. “Show us what you’ve got,” he said jutting out his chin.

He opened up his notebook and flipped to the right page. “Alright, so I was thinking the Three Musketeers plus D’Artagnan.”

“Who would be who?” Gareth asked, wrinkling his nose.

“Gareth is absolutely D’Artagnan,” Brian said without hesitation. “No question.”

Jeff straightened up and looked over at him in confusion. “Why’s that?”

“Because my dearest Jeffy,” Eddie said with a grin, “because he’s the youngest and not an original member. Therefore D’Artagnan.”

Gareth and Brian glanced at each. Brian shrugged and Gareth blinked a moment or two before he shrugged, too.

“Yeah, that tracks.”

“I’ll take Aramis,” Eddie said with a grin. “The smooth talker with religious trauma.”

The other boys just cackled.

“I’ll be Porthos,” Brian said. “The compulsive liar with a flare for the dramatic.”

“Why am I left with the dude with serious romantic wo–” Jeff stopped. “Right, scratch that. I’m Athos.”

They cackled again. Eddie had had some wild crushes, but it was nothing on Jeff. He even had a slightly tragic love story. He’d actually dated Vicki Carmichael before she became a popular kid and hanging out with Steve’s crowd. They had both loved metal music, but Jeff was pretty sure she stopped listening to it once she joined the cool kids.

“And I have a list of other ones too,” Eddie said breaking into the resulting silence. “The four winds from Greek mythology. The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles...um...let’s see...” he looked at the notebook again. “The members of Metallica. The four horsemen of the apocalypse–”

Jeff winced. “Probably not that one, man. It’s for Valentine’s day and that kinda screams the opposite.”

Eddie blinked at him for a moment and then scratched out that idea. “Fair enough.”

“The four hobbits from Lord of the Rings?” Gareth suggested.

“Yes!” Brian cried. “I get to be Samwise!”

Jeff cackled. “Gareth and Eddie are sooo Merry and Pippin!”

“Oh god! Yes! Which one is which, though?” Brian said joining in the laughter.

“I’m Merry, of course,” Eddie said proudly. “I’m the instigator and Gareth goes where I lead.”

Gareth grumped in the corner, crossing his arms and glaring at all of them. “But that makes Jeff Frodo though.”

Jeff straightened up, smug. “I could handle that.”

Eddie shook his head at his friends. “All right, also on my list are the Ghostbusters and The A-Team.”

The other boys shook their heads at either suggestion but they had a pretty good list anyway. Plus their D&D names sprinkled in here and there and they’ve got in the bag.

They spent the next half hour coming up with nice things about Steve. Eddie did have nix a couple of their ideas because they came off as stalker-esque. Which was not the look they were going for.

****

To say that Eddie got a kick out of seeing Steve light up every time he opened his locker and more pink hearts fluttered out of it was an understatement.

The goofy smile the former jock got on his face was worth every second of the time they’d spent on the project.

And it was working, too. That was the really impressive part.

Even Tommy H. was baffled.

“How the hell are you getting so many pink hearts, Harrington?” he said on Friday, just four days into Eddie’s plan.

Steve shrugged in that dorky way that made Eddie’s heart stop. “I guess people are deciding to hell with social constructs and stupid cliques and are telling me even if they don’t dare to be open about that they still like me.”

Tommy’s mouth open and closed like a goldfish then he turned around and stormed off.

Eddie lean against the lock above Steve. “Back to being king again, huh, Stevie?”

“Not really,” he said, closing his locker and standing up. “Most of them are anonymous or fake names. But there are a few that real names.”

“You think someone is stuffing the ballot box as it were?” Eddie asked, worried the jig was up.

Steve shook his head. “At least I don’t think so. But it’s sad that they think they have to hide who they are to tell me that they still think I’m a cool dude or whatever.”

“For what it’s worth,” Eddie said, pushing off from the locker, “I think you’re a pretty cool dude.”

Steve blushed and mumbled his thanks.

God, did Eddie just want to bite those flushed cheeks. They were just too cute.

“It’s worth a lot, actually,” Steve whispered. He stood up and shouldered his backpack. “Catch you later, Eds.”

Shit that little nickname had Eddie’s heart doing overtime.

****

Steve was outside the middle school waiting for Dustin to come out. His mom had asked Steve to pick him because she had to stay after hours at work for a meeting.

He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he hummed to the music in his head. He could have turned on the radio but Dustin hated his music didn’t like him blaring it for the whole school to hear.

His eyes kept flicking to the rearview mirror to see his backpack on the backseat. He wanted to go over the ones he got today. There had been some really good ones. Ones that melted his insides and turned them to goo.

He bit his lip and checked the mirror again. He looked at his watch and he still had a couple minutes until the bell rang.

Steve whirled around and grabbed the bag. He ripped it open and pulled out his trapper keeper. Tucked in the front pocket were the hearts. He ran his fingers over the outline the hearts made on the plastic pocket.

He pulled out the hearts and read over each one. Tracing the names of the givers, thinking about each name and wondering where they were from.

There was a thump on his window startling him. He looked up to see Dustin making faces at him through the glass.

Steve shook his head and unlocked the passenger door to let the twerp in.

“Looking at pink hearts, Steve?” Dustin asked with the shake of his head. “So pathetic.”

Steve rolled his eyes and tried to put the hearts back in the folder, but Dustin snatched them from him and wouldn’t let him take them back.

“Come on, man!” Steve whined. “They’re none of your business.”

“I want to see which girls are giving the Steve Harrington Valentine’s hearts,” Dustin said, wagging his eyebrows.

“Dude, give it up,” he growled. “The pink hearts are friendship hearts, the red ones are the romantic ones. So give it back.”

The younger teen cocked his head to the side and said, “No.”

Steve folded his arms and glared at him.

“Aren’t you going to take me home?” Dustin asked after they sat in silence for a minute or two.

“Not until you give them back.”

Dustin just shrugged. “It’s your funeral if we get home after my mom does.”

Steve threw his arms in the air, but turned the engine and started the car toward the Hendersons.

“These are actually really sweet, Steve,” Dustin said after a couple of minutes. “I like the idea of friendship hearts. That way you don’t accidentally send the wrong message.”

Steve just shrugged.

“You do know that some of these are fake names, right?”

Steve rolled his eyes and dared to look over at him. “Yes, of course I do. I am familiar with D’Artagnan after you named a fucking demodog after him, thanks.”

Dustin cocked his head to the side and then shrugged. “That’s fair. What you probably don’t know is that Aramis, Porthos, and Athos are the names of the Three Musketeers.”

Steve pursed his lips and nodded. “That’s cool.” They hit a stop sign and Steve looked over and pulled out one. “What about this one? Tommy H. thinks it’s short for Kassie, but none of the girls at our school spell it like that.”

Dustin took the heart and looked at it. “Kas. Kas. Yeah, okay. That does sound familiar. Can I get back to you on that one?”

“Sure thing, bud.”

Steve pulled up to curb to let Dustin out. “You got your key? If you don’t, you can hang out with me until your mom gets home.”

Dustin began rummaging around in his bag and Steve snatched the hearts away before he could bend them.

The kid pulled out his keys with a triumphant, “Eureka!”

Steve shook his head. “You are such a dweeb. Go on, get.”

“Bye, Steve!”

“Next time say thank you, asshole!” Steve called out the window.

Dustin turned around and gave him the double middle finger.

Steve shook his head and drove off. Why he loved that kid, he had no idea.

When he got home he pulled out the little notebook and placed the pink hearts in with the rest. All but the one from Kas. Those he kept in his wallet. He really couldn’t place why. There was just something about what they said that made him feel warm and not in the fuzzy friendship way that the others did.

There was the first one:

-Stevie I like the way you’re kind even when it doesn’t benefit you. Kas

Which Steve loved but the others were just as sweet.

-Stevie You have a great laugh, you don’t have to hide it. Kas

-Stevie That shirt today really brings out the color in your eyes. Kas

And Steve’s personal favorite:

-Stevie Each day is brighter because you’re in it. Kas

There was one for each day he got hearts in his locker so he assumed it was all the same person.

He slid it next to the other three hearts in the billfold portion of his wallet and put the wallet next to his keys on his desk. Then he put the little notebook back, careful to make sure it was well hidden.

He wasn’t sure what his dad would do about the mementos but Steve really didn’t want to find out.

He was really going to miss getting the hearts over the weekend. They really had become the highlight of his day.

He sighed and buckled down to work on his homework. It wasn’t as though he had anything better to do with his time. He wasn’t invited to any parties, he didn’t have friends to hang out with, and the people who would hang with him were fourteen year olds and they all had bedtimes.

He briefly thought about calling Eddie, but the guy had friends, unlike Steve and was probably doing something with them. Probably that nerd game that Eddie had a club for.

He buried his head in his hands.

Steve sighed. Fuck his life was depressing as shit.

With another sigh, he resigned himself to another lonely weekend.

****

Part 7 Part 8

Tag List: CLOSED

@mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @emly03

@spectrum-spectre @slv-333 @zerokrox-blog @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie

@chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @maya-custodios-dionach @danili666 @goodolefashionedloverboi

@val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @vecnuthy

@irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee

@awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @dragonmama76

@scheodingers-muppet @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @fullpoetrybread

@disrespectedgoatman @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @moonshadows-13 @skyewaytohell

@swimmingbirdrunningrock @croatoan-like-its-hot @lolawonsstuff @lololol-1234 @dotdot-wierdlife

@ravenfrog @dauntlessdiva @thelittleclare @steddieyourself @dam28lh

[for-a-longlongtime]

WIP on Wednesday Thursday

Well, first of all, my WIP folder is currently looking like this:

But fuck it, we ball right?

I got tagged by @din-cognito and @avastrasposts this week, and @the-blind-assassin-12 and @lotusbxtch last week, so I've got some catching up to do! I've been all over the place working on different docs, so you're getting a few tidbits this week.

I've posted snippets of this before (and lo! a hozier title! I'm gonna have to change that though because the story ended up going differently than planned), and after it having been on hold for months, the pieces are coming together at last.

let me wrap my teeth around the world (working title) | Santiago x Frankie “You think we did the right thing there?” Santiago says, staring at the ceiling as he avoids Frankie's eyes. Unsure he really wants to hear the answer, because of how likely it is that he is the only person who can’t answer that with a decisive yes. Fish was the only one on their team - besides Tom - who'd had a family to take care of, who needed that money probably more than any of them did because of his pilot license being suspended. “I mean... Following his lead with the money.” No answer. The deafening silence lasts for much too long. Santi grimaces as he closes his eyes. Shit. Why did he even ask? He keeps fucking up like this.

Next we've got a WIP that I haven't worked on in a bit (it wanted to go on break, bummerrr) but that I'm hoping to pick up very soon.

Untitled | Reynaldo x Matthew It’s those large hands that draw Matt’s attention first.  That, and the golden chain partially but-not-quite hiding under that checkered golf shirt, glistening every now and then in the bright afternoon sun. It’s almost as bright as the gleam in Sophie’s eyes when she throws back a shot and listens to the older man introduce himself as Reynaldo. Matt is only vaguely aware of the prepared talk that the man launches into, a few words standing out, such as ‘exclusive members only’ and ‘the best golf club in all of Arizona’. Things that everybody wanted to hear, and that gave Sophie all the more opportunity to coo at the man how this was ‘one of the best premium golf clubs’ she’d ever been at. It probably isn’t all that premium though, considering the Scotts and Dale had been able to book this place on a budget. And truth be told, it’s still unclear to Matt why they are here on a ‘vow renewal bachelor staycation’, which seemed a contradiction on its own. Or even why Sophie showed up here, acting like one of the guys, just long enough until she found someone who was willing to give her the attention she was clearly looking for. He’d seen the pattern before, especially with the girls on the Kel-squad. None of that matters though, he tries to remind himself as they make their way up to the golf course. He’s simply glad to get away from Kelsey for a couple of days - not just for some peace and quiet, but also so he doesn’t have to wonder if she’s talking to Domingo every time she smiles at an incoming message on her phone.

Finally, this last one is still in the VERY early stages, but ngl... I'm excited. Thank you to the folks who encouraged me to keep going with it! This is hella out of my comfort zone but what the hell, that's where the fun is, right? This one is going to more filth than I'll probably be able to shove into an one shot... so it may end up becoming two or three parts. We'll see.

for glory (working title) | Harry Castillo Harry is speechless, shock painted over his features, and it takes him a moment to find his voice. "You wouldn't dare to," he finally manages to say, and what had previously been surprise in his eyes has now flipped into unmistakeable rage. "Mmm, is that so, Harry? What - you think I've got morals or something?"

EDIT: WAIT!! I forgot to add one final excerpt! This is from a yet to be decided chapter from Joel and Marcus Moreno' story. I spent way too much time trying to find the right face claim moments for them at different ages, and this is what I settled on for their mid-twenties:

Joel in his mid-twenties (a.k.a. Zach Wellison in Brothers & Sisters)

Marcus Moreno in his late twenties (a.k.a. looking like Comandante Veracruz from the Burn Notice movie).

Yes, I'm as shocked as y'all are about the latter, but I promise it'll make sense. As for the excerpt:

Untitled series | Joel Miller x Marcus Moreno Marcus folds his arms as he leans back against the wall, looking every bit the charismatic guy most people know him to be. But Joel has known him a long time and can see where the varnish has cracked, and the parts he so desperately tries to cover up.  "So you don't like it. How I look. You don't like me anymore," Marcus says after a moment, and there’s something about all that combativeness on display - as well as the bitter irony of those words - that hits Joel much harder than he was prepared for. He doesn’t have the same defense system that Marcus clearly is equipped with; the mask that he can put on and off so easily after years of practice. So he just shakes his head. "Think it's been too long since you've had someone push back against you, M." "The fuck is that supposed to mean?" Joel tries to hide his sigh by drinking from his coffee, but the beverage has gone cold, the stale taste of it now bitter on his tongue in a way that feels oddly specific to this situation. "Don't pick a fight with me because you're unhappy, Marcus," he says softly.

I know a lot of y'all already posted a WIP Wednesday, so I'm just gonna link a couple of folks, no pressure as always (apologies if you've already made your weekly WIP update):

@perotovar @sin-djarin @lotusbxtch @mountainsandmayhem @qveerthe0ry

@letsgobarbs @gothcsz @milla-frenchy @guiltyasdave @oliveksmoked

@magpiepills @arcanefox207 @reallyrallyauthor @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @clubsoft

@romanarose @the-blind-assassin-12

[rangersoup]

WIP WEDNESDAY

Thank you @emsprovisions @lemonlyman-dotcom @paperstorm @annoyingcloudearthquake @futures-tense @carlos-in-glasses @nisbanisba and @captain-gillian for tagging me! Here's a little bit from Turn and Burn, my Carlos being good with horses fic (im working on it again! i caught some inspiration from my trip to the farm yesterday):

 TK doesn’t know much about horses but he can still tell this one is angry. She hasn’t tried to kill Carlos yet, but he can see in her cold blue eyes that she wants to. He didn’t think it was possible for an animal to look so hateful… so evil, but somehow she is here proving him wrong. Lilith really seems to be the perfect name for the mare.

“Baby, are you sure about this?” TK asks for what’s probably the tenth time. There’s a million and one ways this could go horribly wrong, and he doesn’t want to be here to see any of the possibilities unfold. “There’s other horses. Why don’t you just train one of them instead?”

“Because I’m sure about this one,” Carlos replies, walking the mare to the edge of the round pen. He had lunged her with little fuss. She had only bucked once or twice. She seems like she’s calmed down, TK wants to believe that she has, but those eyes, he can’t past the devious glint in them. “She’s going to be great.”

She’s going to kill him is what her eyes say.

Carlos wraps the lead rope around the fence post and knots it once, then steps up beside the horse. TK holds his breath.

“How’s my sweet angel?’ Carlos asks, patting her on the neck with a gentle hand. She looks at him but doesn’t react. “That’s a good girl.” he offers her a treat. She thinks about it, but doesn’t accept it. “No sweet tooth? That’s okay, your mom likes grass better too.”

He turns and grabs the saddle pad draped over the top rail of the fence. The mare’s head goes up and her ears prick forward. She’s paying attention now, and the look in her blue eyes only seems to get more dangerous. TK doesn’t let his breath go.

“We’re not going to do anything crazy,” Carlos explains to the horse. “We’re just gonna look at it and maybe try to put it on.”

“Baby, please be careful,” TK pleads as his husband holds the pad out towards Lilith. She blows air out of her nose and takes a step back, eyeing it nervously.

“It’s not going to do anything to you,” Carlos promises without acknowledging TK’s plea. He keeps it angled towards her until she lowers her head and reaches out her nose to sniff it. When she finally does, he lowers it and offers her the treat a second time. She doesn’t take it. He repeats the process a couple more times until the horse stops reacting to him lifting the pad. TK finds his ability to breathe again. Maybe this won’t be as bad as he thought.

“Now, will you let me touch you with it?” he asks, stepping closer to her with it. He lifts it up and reaches towards her shoulder with it. This proves to be too much. She pins her ears back flat against her neck, arches her neck and rears, snorting angrily. TK’s breath catches as Carlos takes a hop back putting a safe distance between himself and the angry horse. She rears a second time, yanking on the rope tying her in place causing the whole fence to groan. She paws at the ground, her powerful neck still arched and swishes her tail angrily.

“Maybe you should stop for the day,” TK suggests as Carlos stands back and crosses his arms over his chest, watching his horse throw her temper tantrum.

“No, we’ve gotta end on a good note,” Carlos explains. “She already got it in her head that if she acts like a bitch she’ll get her way. Stopping now will just reinforce that.”

“Yeah but if you don’t stop she’s going to try to kill you,” TK reasons, begging him to call it a day.

“She wouldn’t be the first, and won’t be the last,” Carlos says over his shoulder, before turning back to the mare who is still throwing her head and beating the ground with her front foot. “Are you done yet?”

She stops and glares at him. TK didn’t think horses could glare, but that is the best description for the look she’s giving Carlos.

“Good, now we’re going to try this again,” Carlos says, picking the saddle pad back up. “You’re going to let me touch you with it, and then we’ll call it a day. Sound good?”

The mare snorts, and TK finds himself agreeing with her. It does not sound good. Carlos lets her smell it again before trying to touch it to her shoulder. This time when he reaches for her back, she lifts up her back leg and throws a very purposeful kick in his direction. He hops out of the way only narrowly avoiding catching a hoof to the gut. TK flinches for him.

I know wednesday is almost over, but open tag! anyone who wants to tag me in what they post is welcome to!

[blackberrysummerblog]

Hi all! I’m just out here being three weeks late with my 2024 Writing Round-Up, and thank you so much to @monbons, @forabeatofadrum, @confused-bi-queer, @rimeswithpurple, @nausikaaa, @prettygoododds, @ileadacharmedlife, @artsyunderstudy, @best--dress, @j-nipper-95, @roomwithanopenfire, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe, @imagineacoolusername, @mooncello, and @thewholelemon for tagging me! I hope I didn’t miss anyone, and thank you as well to everyone who’s been tagging me for Six Sentence Sunday and WIP Wednesday this month. Without getting too much into it, I am BURNT. OUT, and it’s making me retreat from even the things I enjoy the most, like writing and catching up on everyone’s beautiful fandom works.

But, I’m determined to make this round-up post, even if it takes me a couple of days to put together. There’s a lot here! Almost all of it was from COC, which I was hellbent on finishing this year, and did! Here’s the list, in chronological order, of all published writing for 2024:

The Field Trap, 1/2 (5272, M) This has been sitting unfinished for a bit, but I do anticipate it being completed. I discovered a real love for Watford-era fics toward the end of the past year, but it probably all began for me two years ago when I wrote Field Trip of Dreams, the prequel to Field Trap. At any rate, I haven’t forgotten the fic, and Field Trap may end up with an E rating in the second chapter.

Time Will Lie Down and Be Still (26,201, M) This is the fic I’m most proud of this year. It’s the result of my COBB collab with @rimeswithpurple, and it’s been such an inspiration to work with Arianna! I highly recommend the experience :D This fic has 3/5 chapters published so far, and I’m getting there with the 4th. I’ll share that Arianna finished the art for Chapter 4 the other day and it is STUNNING, so I need to get my part done! For anyone who doesn’t know, the fic is a retelling of the movie Practical Magic (I’ve never been able to get very far in the book, for whatever reason, so I wouldn’t count on the fic lining up with it). This one is close to my heart for many reasons, but I’ve especially enjoyed building Dev’s character and his relationship with Baz.

Absolutely everything else I published was for COC, and I’ll put it below a cut due to length. Thanks to everyone who read my work this year! As always, the output of this fandom is just incredible, and I’ve enjoyed being able to take it in as well as contribute a little myself. Happy New Year, everyone!

Something Old (1146, T) Simon finds something unexpected while clearing out space in the wardrobe.

Chosen (880, G) Agatha and Simon have just begun dating and Philippa attempts to engage her in a little friendly roommate squee. Agatha isn’t quite so sure.

I Hate You, Never Leave Me (2339, M) Simon and Baz have found a new and better way to settle their differences, by getting each other off all over campus. Will it evolve into anything more, however? (I love this one, honestly. Might have to someday write a more extensive version)

Greek (1565, T) Simon has to keep a very close eye on Baz in Greek class, for reasons.

Let Me See You (1205, T) Simon is the one to find Baz draining a deer in the forest instead of Agatha. His reaction is not what either of them was expecting.

Truth or Dare (2608, T) Does what it says on the tin—the gang play a game of Truth or Dare, and the dares reveal a little more truth than anyone expected. (Definitely not a groundbreaking take on the prompt, but I never really tire of reading truth or dare fics, and hoped readers would feel the same :P)

Gently, Gently (668, M) Simon and Baz spend the morning in bed, skiving off class and not regretting it at all. (I came to realize that an embarrassing number of fics I write either start out with the boys waking up in bed or that is the entire premise of the fic. “Waking up” is a weird fetish to have, but OK me, I guess)

Looking for Knives, Looking for You (1181, T) Baz reflects on all the wounds he and Simon have given each other over the years. (Despite the vicious sounding title and depressing summary, this one was meant to be sort of cute and sweet)

Hold You Safe (1015, G) At the start of Eighth Year, Dev and Niall’s relationship is still very new as they get some bad news from home.

Dinner (Guess Who’s Coming) (3525, T) It’s half term, and Baz’s parents want to take him to dinner. They invite him to bring a friend, but unfortunately for Malcolm, he pisses Baz off first, and Baz decides his guest will be Simon—the Mage’s heir, his family’s mortal enemy, and Baz’s undying secret crush. (As with nearly all my COC offerings this year, this fic was knocked out during my lunch break the day of, and it shows. It really could have stood to be longer and more developed, so maybe I’ll revisit it one day, since I did like the premise)

Stay with Me (878, T) It’s Eighth Year and Simon gets home late and injured from a mission. Baz arrives at a resolution. (I was a little baffled to get a comment about the Mage already being dead, since this fic takes place during the school year and makes mention of a very much alive Mage in multiple places. It was more of a statement than a criticism though, I think.)

A Charmed Life (1449, E) Baz and Simon have an utterly normal morning getting frisky in bed. (Again. Huh.)

A Horse Named Jane (736, T) Simon has that song stuck in his head again. The one Baz can’t stand. They work out a (sort of) compromise.

Sour and Sweet (3060, G) It’s Baz’s birthday and Agatha has just given Simon his walking papers. Oh no :P However, the breakup does little to lift Baz’s spirits. (This one has two chapters and filled two prompts, sour and sweet, natch. Chapter two’s summary is: Simon decides he needs to make something sweet for Baz’s birthday, even though he’s two days late and doesn’t know how to bake. Well, he’s got magic at his disposal, so things are sure to turn out just fine. :P)

Punk (828, T) Baz is making Simon join him for lunch with Fiona again, but Simon figures he’ll debut a new look & attitude. Will they actually make it to the restaurant? (I really enjoyed writing this one. Simon being frustrated with Fiona’s behavior and still being silly with Baz about it was just a happy place for me)

Surprise (733, M) Simon and Baz are engaging in one of their classic Mummers’ House tiffs. What will happen? :P (I did write a little surprise into this one, but it was very much in keeping with some of my favorite themes)

Cast in Fire (791, G) Simon comes to Watford and learns about how his roommate will be chosen.

Fluff and Nonsense (1627, T) The prompt is ‘fluff’ and did I once again take the opportunity to write a light-on-plot secret relationship fic about Watford-era Simon and Baz being cozy and silly in bed? Yeah, I might have. Simon is going home with Baz over the Christmas break. Not a lot going on here, they’re just really comfy and in love.

Pieces of Me (1557, M) Baz has been having nightmares. Simon comforts him and encourages him to open up.

The World Was Open (956, T) Agatha and Niamh attend Simon and Baz’s wedding, and Agatha overhears another guest making a snide remark.

Find Me (2374, M) Eighth year at Watford was unremarkable, and Simon and Baz last saw each other when they graduated. Seven months later, Dev and Niall drag a pining and protesting Baz out to a club for a night of drinking and dancing, but there’s a familiar face behind the bar. Simon Snow is serving drinks, and worse, he’s flirting with a Baz lookalike. What will happen :P (This was yet another fic that could have been developed a little more, but I was still happy with the result overall)

Warm Spell (1795, M) Goatherd Simon has been almost-encountering a beautiful stranger for several weeks now, but one hot summer day, they finally meet.

Lost and Found (575, G) The boys go shopping together and Baz temporarily loses Simon, but it’s all pretty plot-free :P

Truce (1101, M) Simon pesters Baz while he’s trying to study, and needs to learn a lesson. Will they be able to call a truce? (This one was where the trouble began—I changed my settings to allow comments from unregistered users, because I like to fuck around and find out, I suppose. And find out I did! Luckily, the rude comment I received took aim at some writing element that didn’t even make sense for this particular fic, and I quickly realized it was a bot. Not long after, I started getting comments on other fics as well, all very nonspecific to the fandom, characters, and genre. I’m so sorry because I know it upset a few readers who were very kind to clap back and reassure me, and I changed my settings back so that it wouldn’t happen again.)

Savour (1189, T) Simon has been away on one of his missions for the Mage, and Baz has been awaiting his return by leaving out plates of food in their room every night. (Bot’s review: “the worst fic in the fandom”. It’s not even the worst fic in my own oeuvre, so joke’s on you, guy XD)

We Were Always Together (2239, T) During cotillion class, Simon is forced to dance with Baz. The horror! (I flipping loved writing this. Full on had a blast and Would Write Again)

Let It Snow (925, M) It’s almost time for Christmas break at Watford, and it may not turn out as the boys planned. However, thanks to a spell gone wrong (or very right) it may yet work out for the best :P

Always (551, G) It’s Christmas Eve and Baz has just finished putting the kids to bed. Simon is putting the finishing touches on the Christmas tree.

Something New (990, T) Simon and Baz have a little tiff near the end of eighth year, but it’s not fated to last long. I’ve written a lot of secret!relationship Watford era fics for COC this year, some that could go together and some that were in separate universes. It’s been so much fun to write about the boys sneaking around, but this is…something new. :P (In which I was very pleased with myself for how I wrapped things up in accordance with the prompt. I really, really enjoyed COC this year :D)

Thanks for reading! I’m sure most everyone has already made their own round-up posts, but consider these no-pressure tags and hellos: @valeffelees @stardustasincocaine @bookish-bogwitch @facewithoutheart @c0nsumemy5oul @jasonfunderberkerthefrogexists @tender-ministrations @basiltonbutliketheherb @ghostpepperworld @larkral @letraspal @cows4247 @fiend-for-culture @palimpsessed @hushed-chorus @shrekgogurt @raenestee @cutestkilla @drowninginships @youarenevertooold @iamamythologicalcreature @beastmonstertitan @ic3-que3n @supercutedinosaurs @stitchy-queerista @alexalexinii @asocialpessimist @shutup-andletme-go @prettygoododds @ivelovedhimthroughworse @j-nipper-95 @wellbelesbian @bookishbroadwayandblind @orange-peony @papierhaikuphoto @martsonmars

[suzukiblu]

I just discovered your writing recently and it has been glorious! Thank you so much! I'm particularly a fan of your Billy raising Kon, and Billy/Damian soulmates works. I'm agog at your writing output and wanted to ask, how/when do you write so much? And secondarily, do you track your word count? How much do you actually write per week/month/year/arbitrary unit of time?

Thank you, glad to hear you're enjoying it! The Billy works do tend to come out pretty well for me, hah, just somethin' about the lil' dude I guess. 😆

also uh

also imma just put this ridiculously long response to those questions behind a cut, hahaha, save everyone some scrolling as needed.

Disclaimer one: I did NOT mean to write this much but sometimes I just get INTO answering a question, haha, sooooo either I'm sorry or you're welcome, depending on how much information you actually wanted here? And I just didn't wanna downplay or over-simplify my response and potentially make anyone reading it feel bad about not being as stupid-productive at their thing-of-choice as I am at mine, because I am this stupid-productive at my thing-of-choice for SEVERAL reasons and most of them are deliberately-cultivated or deliberately worked-with ones that I like, put a LOT of work into long-term, and the rest are just dumb luck/chance. Like man, I am pushing forty and have literally been very dedicatedly both coming up with and telling stories for longer than I could actually READ, much less write; I have had a LOT of time to learn how to do this shit and I have very autistically DEDICATED a lot of time to learning how to do this shit, hahaha.

Disclaimer two: a SIGNIFICANT chunk of the reason I write so much is a) a convenient dovetail of hyperfocus and hyperfixation, b) I have literally been writing for twenty-five years, give or take some phases of writer's block of varying lengths, c) I'm on my meds and take them religiously, and d) my actual collect-a-paycheck job is only part-time and also lets me write on the clock because there's usually a ton of downtime there. On top of that it's our off-season so we're on reduced hours right now anyway, so I frequently only work two or three days a week and almost always have time to write for at least a couple hours at my desk, and more often have basically my entire SHIFT to write, and frankly I'm probably more productive in the office than I am at home, barring the occasional REAL busy day. Generally when I'm actually locked-in on something I'm working on, an hour of writing time is gonna end up being around 1k in word count for me, and I actually get interrupted less often in the office than I do at home.

Also and VITALLY, I am very much a writer who THRIVES on feedback/communication/other people's interest and I have spent a pretty significant amount of consistent time and effort on doing my best to encourage people on here to talk to me and tell me what they're into and ask me for things on WIP Wednesdays and the writing memes that I do, and the combination of all of that interaction and the AO3 comments I get REALLY fuels me. Like I cannot TELL you how much those things fuel me, hah. Apparently I'm like . . . a decently popular writer, go figure, and I realize this is gonna sound like fake-humble shit but that is genuinely never something I really realize/remember as being a thing until someone gives me a pitying look about how oblivious I am, at which point I realize that no, yeah, most people have way more trouble getting someone to answer their random weird questions about random weird shit at random weird times and most people do NOT get triple-digit comments per chapter on multiple ongoing fics or triple-digit responses on their WIP Wednesdays no matter HOW good the narrative dick is, either metaphorically OR literally.

So like, as stated, I am very appreciation/feedback-oriented as a writer and I get a LOT of appreciation and feedback; I have been very lucky to get a responsive and chatty audience for a lot of my writing, and therefore I write a lot, lot, LOT more than I would otherwise. Legit, I would have gotten bored of/frustrated with SO many of these fics if other people weren't reminding me what I liked about them to begin with and thereby renewing my motivation for and interest in 'em. Like I know EVERYONE has said to death that fandom is a collaborative effort and you don't get fic/art unless you tell writers/artists that you LIKE their fic/art, but if you have ANY doubt of that actually being a thing, I am one of the purest examples of that particular feedback loop that I am aware of, because I write a lot because people engage a lot with my stuff, and people engage a lot with my stuff because I write a lot, so I write MORE, so they ENGAGE more, so it just goes around and around and ends up in insanely prolific amounts of word count and me saying things like "geez did I only write 50k this month, how did I even write THAT little" and genuinely MEANING it.

And like, that's an environment that I have specifically tried to cultivate on this blog, ngl, because I know it's the environment I'll write the best/most in and one that a lot of readers will find rewarding/engaging to participate in and/or follow along with, but obviously it only works because people are willing to do that engaging with me to begin with and thereby are keeping a lot of ideas and WIPs all active in my brain. I have written thousands upon thousands upon THOUSANDS of words because of, like, ONE kind comment or one or two especially invested/appreciative readers peekin' in on the regular or just legit a single friend who likes to cheerlead or that one guy in the back who always perks up when a specific WIP comes up, so like, yeah, very much I am a feedback-loop writer, and very much does the feedback-loop work for my writing process.

Also, I've actively considered myself a writer since I was like fourteen and even before that was already drawing comics/storyboards/sequential art basically from the day I STARTED drawing, and I was ALL the way a "play through storytelling" VORACIOUS reader of a kid, I KILLED every reading challenge I ever did in school/at the library and like, there were literal NARRATIVES to my playtimes, my playtimes were actually straight-up EPISODIC, haha. I legitimately read so much that strangers at the library would low-key try to shade my mom for letting me check out the multiple literal stacks of books that they thought I wasn't gonna get through by their due dates, and meanwhile we'd taken out at LEAST as many the week before and I'd already been bored for two days before we came back for this week's batch. So I am very well-read and very narrative-oriented and really, REALLY experienced at both constructing a narrative and just the actual act of writing, so at this point I intuitively/instinctively know what works to tell a story and have a pretty strong grasp of grammar and spelling, and I know what ( usually ) works to make me write.

I've also done a TON of text-based roleplay/co-writing with people in the past, which definitely has made me a faster and more responsive writer and also taught me a lot about dialogue/exchange and how to avoid weighing a narrative too heavily around one person/point of view even when they're my special fave, hah, and about the concept of unreliable narrators and also, like, just finding somebody to match your freak being WAY more engaging than writing stories that are watered-down one-size-fits-all and therefore not particularly memorable. I also had a "very into poetry" phase during a lot of my more formative years right when I first started writing prose, which I realize SEEMS off-topic, but the poetry phase definitely helped a lot, because, like, it gave me a much better sense of . . . rhythm, let's say? Pacing? So I kind of have a baked-in "beat" in my head to follow when I write, typically, and that helps me write both smoother and faster and just more effectively in general, and also makes it easier for me to get across the mood/emotion/feeling I'm going for.

I also don't edit my stuff all that much most of the time; I'm usually just checking for continuity errors and typos and occasionally adjusting the rhythm/flow of paragraph breaks or swapping out over-used words. Otherwise, though, a LOT of my fic just goes up with zero changes from the first draft, or maybe just a few added sentences to clarify some details and corrected typos. So like, that also means that I spend a whole lot less time on rewriting and editing than a lot of other writers do, which therefore means I have more time to pour into More Words. And I have ascended beyond being over-precious about my writing, FINALLY, and therefore am fine with writing things I think are junk just to get them out of my system and/or make progress in a story and then can revisit them a few days later and be like "actually this is pretty damn good, wtf were you so annoyed by, self, did you just need a snack or something, whatever, WELP we're puttin' this one up!!"

Also: ADHD and autism. It is amazing what ADHD and autism can get out of a guy, for real. Like god DAMN does the ADHD and autism one-two combo really bring it home for me personally, because I am juuuuust autistic enough to not need or want a lot of social out-of-house time and to have incredibly dedicated life-long hyperfixations and I am also so ADHD that my diagnostic paperwork specifically says I have more ADHD than a whole-ass ninety-five percent of the ADHD population and my new psych literally did not believe that anyone would prescribe me as much Adderall as makes me temporarily ALMOST "normal" until we worked our way up to it, and WOW does correctly-channeled hyperfocus really, REALLY pay off in the art of getting real good at doing something and real good at doing that something a LOT.

And eight million words of answer later, yup, I do track my word count! My memory is all over the place ( that being one of the LESS useful aspects of my personal flavor of ADHD/autism, hah ) but I like to have a rough idea of how productive I've been so I don't wither up and die of imposter syndrome. I actually keep a whole-ass yearly spreadsheet with a page dedicated to each month that I update daily with how many words I wrote in which stories, and then I add 'em all up at the end of each week and add 'em up again at the end of the month just to give myself a rough idea of how I'm doing in general.

Which, speaking of, I'm actually WILDLY underproducing this week, seriously, it's already Thursday and I've only written like 6.7k. Which, for reference, I have not written less than 22k a week in the past THREE weeks, and on average I'm usually up in the 16-18k area. Like, if I only write 10k in a week or write less than 2k in a day, that seems like not all that much to me, and I write EVERY day. Like. Every day. Literally every day. Every day EVER, or I get the friggin' itch about it and get cranky; it is legit a compulsion for me at this point in my life. I wrote when I had fucking COVID last month and only missed any days that month at all because I had to drive four hours out of town immediately after recovering from said COVID, and that was the first time I'd missed even a SINGLE day in I'm pretty sure LITERAL months, and I STILL topped out above the high end of my usual monthly word count, which is on average about 70-75k. And last year I only tracked my word count from mid-June to December, I actually wasn't keeping track at all before that, but I wrote 410k in those six-ish months.

So like . . . I did mention the ADHD and autism, yes? I mentioned those things as being things?

No reason. Just wondering.

[lalizah]

WIP Wednesday

I completely missed the last one because I didn't have anything but thank you to all the lovely people who tagged me! I'm giving myself 30 minutes every alternate day to write something, anything, so that I can work out those writing muscles and maybe write more than disjointed snippets that don't go anywhere

I'm tagging the lovely @fauville , @carriehobbs , @nat-seal-well , @agentark , @agentnatesewell , @lykegenia , @l-llavellans , @itsmistyeyedbi , @thee-morrigan , @thecryptidenthusiast , @grapecaseschoices , @serenpedac , @wayhavenots and YOU! (no pressure ofc, you were tagged more because you're all wonderful and ily haha but if you are cooking smt I am 👀👀👀)

Please tag me everytime you write or share something!

Here's a little something I've been writing (but can't continue with aaaaaaa):

What seems like a few lifetimes ago, on a crisp autumn day, Mama had just wiped the remains of chocolate mousse off Liz’s face, pausing before answering her question. “Why can’t we look at the sun?” she’d whined the last word, as if it were Mama’s fault. Her mother, ever logical and factual, probably found the conversation amusing at best, her childish tantrums best left unentertained. “You will learn why when you’re a bit older,” she had said, and before Liz could question and whine some more, the sound she hated most chirped from her mother’s purse, signalling the end of whatever little time they could spend. She was still offended by the sun’s audacity, which meant she’d brood and puzzle over why she couldn’t look, rather than throw a fit over yet another departure, another one of their mother-daughter dates cut short so Mama could go do whatever she did that took forever for her to come back from. 

The next day, she had walked out into her backyard with the resolution and bravado only a six-year-old could possess. Her confidence was coupled with an imitation of what one would consider a powerful, commanding gait, her brows furrowed and jaw set in a display of defiance, arms rigid and fists curled as she walked out like those soldiers she’d seen in movies. If the sun was intimidated, it didn’t show. She stood dead centre in the backyard, took a deep breath, and looked up at the yellow-white ball of light in the cerulean blue sky. She couldn’t. It hurt, stung even, eyes closing on their own, even when she hadn’t wanted them to. Red and something glaringly white kept crossing her vision and she had cried out in panic when the world appeared different and wrong. Out came her nanny that she’d managed to ditch for a few seconds, pulling her out of the sun and into the cool shade of the small ginkgo tree, the bright, yellow foliage a much cooler sight than the burning one from before. “Foolish girl, you would have gone blind!” her nanny had yelled, loud and disapproving. Why, Liz had wanted to ask, but she was being tutted and fussed over, pulled by her hand inside in a way that meant no questions would be appreciated, and certainly not answered.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She is burning in a warmth, liquid smooth, a heat that wraps and surrounds her in a way that is reassuring. It is final in its promise, a sentiment she cannot doubt because it is his. You will brave no winter alone. 

The sun bends before her, resplendent and agonisingly beautiful, the light almost blinding her, and she should look away. Nate’s honey gaze finds her, an apologetic smile on his face, even though it is no fault of his own. He’s saying something; what, she can’t tell. Her eyes urge her to look. They urge her to look away. She cannot. Not when those pink, shapely lips form around her name, laced with his accent that is entirely different, entirely beautiful, colouring her name in a vibrance that makes her yearn to hear him say it once more. 

She does not dare look away, especially when he’s right before her, all six foot four of marvellous power and grace bent like a knight swearing his allegiance to her. Broad shoulders and strong arms moving with his gentle, delicate ministrations as he puzzles over the stain on her shoe. Deft, long fingers spill featherlight kisses just above her ankle, leaving sparks in their wake, and she has to placate herself or she will fall, in more ways than one. She rests her entire weight by settling her hands on his shoulders, and he hums, pleased. She hums too, in agreement. They shouldn’t be any farther than this, ever. 

[crockpotbuddie]

wip wednesday

a little break from all the spotify wrapped posting to share some of my writing. i've been working a lot on this for past week.

Something is up with Eddie. It’s driving Buck up the wall because he cannot figure out why Eddie is acting like this. He has been gathering evidence all morning to solve this mystery. 

1. Eddie was almost late today. 

Not actually late, because he did make it to the station well before the start of their shift. He was already there and changing into his uniform, in fact, when Buck stumbled into the locker room while simultaneously pulling his shirt over his head. (He had overslept because he went down a Wikipedia rabbit hole on orcas and their fashion trends last night after reading about salmon hats being back). 

By the time Buck had managed to wrangle out of his shirt, Eddie had stuck his head in his (their) locker like he was searching for something. Very intently. He stayed like that for so long that Buck finished changing and made it out of the locker room before him. 

2. Eddie kept spacing out during the morning briefing. 

This basically never happens unless he’s truly preoccupied with something. Usually, Eddie is extremely attentive, quite literally standing at attention with rigid military posture, probably still ingrained in him from his army days. But today, Buck had to nudge his boot against Eddie’s to startle him out of whatever thought he was caught up in when Bobby said his name and read out the chores he assigned to him. 

But the most incriminating piece of evidence was gathered before Buck even arrived at the firehouse, actually. 

3. Eddie used an emoji. 

And not just any emoji, no. It was a heart. This morning, Buck texted Eddie that he was running a little behind (in case Bobby asked) to which Eddie replied with, and Buck is not kidding: 

Okay. Will have a cup of coffee waiting for you. ❤️

Buck had stared at the heart for a good five minutes, probably, which had made him even more late. 

(In the end, Eddie did not have coffee waiting for him on account of taking forever in the locker room. The liar.) 

“Eddie is acting weird, right?” he asks Hen. He’s helping her restock the ambulance and she is holding very tightly onto the clipboard. Buck is not even allowed to look at it, all she’s letting him do is hand her the supplies she is asking for. 

Hen raises an eyebrow. “Weird how?” 

“I don’t know,” Buck whines and throws his hands up in frustration. The gauze in his hand flies halfway across the ambulance bay. He scrambles up to retrieve it before Hen has the chance to turn the full power of her glare onto him. 

“He’s just… being weird.” He drops the gauze in Hen’s outstretched hand. “Like, okay, he’s being quiet but he also isn’t. Not in the way he usually is when he just doesn’t want to talk about something. It’s more like– like he actually wants to say something but just doesn’t know how.” 

Hen considers this for a moment. 

“Why don’t you just ask him about it? If it’s bothering you that much.” 

If only it were that easy.

i'm just going to tag a couple of mutuals for them to see this - and of course also to share something if you guys have anything to share!! <3

@livingincolorsagain @queerprincesseddiediaz @eddiesbian @moonyslesbian @girldadbuckley @cafecitoeddie @4thbrighteststar @housewifebuck & if anyone else wants to share their wip please feel free to also tag me in it!!

[bitbybitwrites]

I havent done this in a bit . . so many thanks to the following people who keep tagging me in both this and WIP Wednesdays for the past few weeks!

@onthewaytosomewhere , @porcelainmortal , @firstprincehornyramblings , @forabeatofadrum, @sophie1973 , @iboatedhere, @getmehighonmagic, @caterpills, @blueeyedgrlwrites, @theprinceandagcd 

I appreciate you thinking of me!

Well, lets see . . .

I've finally updated If I Can Make Your Heart My Home (Klaine Reverse Bang 2023) by posting Chapter 29 (cc @datshitrandom)

I've added a bit more to a couple of other WIPs (for both Klaine and First Prince), which I'll list below!

1.) Working on the next installment of Puppy Love (RWRB NYE 2023 exchange) ( cc @omgbarbiegurl )

“Awwwww . . .” Alex turned to find Liam and Spencer staring at him with the sappiest, lovesick expressions on their faces. “Our baby is growing up,” Spencer said, daubing away fake tears with his lab coat. “It was just yesterday he was pulling on your pigtails, “ Liam said to June as he reached over to pinch Alex's cheek. “And he was shoving you off the swings in our back yard, “ she countered back with a smirk and exaggerated flutter of her eyelashes. Alex pouted as he pushed Liam away.  “Shut the fuck up, “ he grumbled, clutching his coffee mug tighter.  “I don’t even know why I let you all work here.” “Because you love us, dipshit.  And we love you too.” Liam said as he shoved Alex back playfully.  “Go and talk to your Prince Charming. Introduce him to your kid.  Everything is gonna work out just fine.”

*****

Alex Hey baby . . you free to talk? Cause I was thinking,  if you’re not  busy this holiday. . .   I know maybe not Christmas. . . you probably have lots of family stuff to do  but actually if you’re free on New Years Eve, I’d  love of you to come meet my family.  My sister’s girlfriend is hosting this party.   My mom, stepdad and dad are all gonna  be flying in and and I know they’d all love to meet you.  Win em over with that English charm of yours. I’ll even talk June into finding some of those  Jabba Cakes you like so much, if that’ll make  the deal sweeter  . . FoxyBaby .............. Alex Hen?  I tried you earlier.  You around  or has Pez got you  running round in circles getting the  shelter ready for the holidays? FoxyBaby .............. Alex Hey . . haven’t heard from you . .  Are you ok? FoxyBaby ............ Alex Hen? Henry?

2.) worked some of my next installment for missed connections (Klaine Secret Santa 2024) (cc @cryscendo . . .and so many thanks to @esilher for helping me out with the French in this upcoming chapter)

The assembled team nodded as soon as they saw Charles’ gesture of approval again.  

“Ce sera tout, Monsieur? (Will that be all, Sir?)” one of the older seamstresses asked.

Charles grunted as he waved off his staff.  “Yes . . yes, Honorée.  We are good for now. Veillez à prendre contact avec Gaston ou Jean d'ici la fin de la semaine pour leur faire part de vos progrès. (See that you check in with Gaston or Jean by the end of the week with your progress.) “

Now dismissed, Worth’s employees bustled about the room, collecting fabric samples and sketches.  Blaine, ever the gentleman, assisted Célestine, the young model, off the ottoman, assisting her into a her a light silk wrap to cover herself with.  She smiled coyly at Blaine as she whispered her thanks.

Worth rolled his eyes as he watched.  “And you all better get your farewells in today,” the designer warned.  “Remember, this is Blaine’s last day with us.  Il retourne dans son pays d'origine demain. (He returns to his homeland tomorrow.)”

A resounding sound of disappointment shuttled through the staff.  Blaine had been a comforting figure to many of them in his 5 year tenure as Worth’s personal assistant and artistic protégé. His energetic and eager attitude had quickly endeared him to many in The House of Worth the minute he stepped through its doors.  

The seamstresses quickly surrounded him, clucking in disapproval as they patted and kissed his cheeks affectionately, like the motherly hens that they were. Even with bolts of fabric in their arms, the clothmakers and their assistants made sure to offer hearty handshakes and claps on his back in farewell as they each left the room.

 Célestine pouted as she stepped forward “Bon retour en Amérique, Blaine. (Have a safe journey back to America, Blaine.)” She extended her neck as she  leaned over,  touching each of her her soft, perfumed cheeks against Blaine’s own.  “Ne soyez pas un étranger.  Revenez nous rendre visite quand vous le pouvez. (Do not be a stranger.  Come back and visit when you can.)” the model said huskily , reaching around Blaine to squeeze his ass as she passed.

Blaine expelled a surprised yelp as it happened, staring at Charles with wide eyes as his employer guffawed loudly at his expense.  “Yes, uh . . . I mean . . Merci Célestine.  Tu vas... euh... tu me manqueras aussi. (Thank you Celestine.  I shall . . . uh. . .miss you too.)” Blaine stuttered out , flustered and red-faced as the door closed behind the model, finally leaving him and Charles alone.

Worth continued laughing at Blaine’s shocked expression. “That woman has been trying to get into your trousers for five years, Blaine.  You can’t be surprised.”

Blaine  smoothed down his waistcoat and shuddered for a moment at the thought.  “Well, I’ve never tried to make her think I had any aspirations for such things . . . she’s certainly not my type.”  He quickly walked over to Charles’ desk and began sorting the piles of drawings the designer had strewn over  it haphazardly.  “Now, do you need me to bring these sketches back to the designers now?”

Tagging to play ( only if you want to - no pressure! )

And of course this applies to the lovely folks who tagged me at the top of this post.

AND BIG open tag if anyone wants to jump in and share:

, @annepi-blog, @myheartalivewrites , @14carrotghoul, @kirakiwiwrites

@wowbright, , @coffeegleek, @theprinceandagcd

@gleefulpoppet , @special-bc-ur-part-of-it , @daisyishedwig @sarkyblueeyes , @hkvoyage

@tinyarmedtrex, @1908jmd , @sparklepocalypse @spaceorphan18, @firstprincehornyramblings

@kirakiwiwrites , @cha-melodius @yadivagirl, @lady-divine-writes, @cryscendo @emeryhall

@rockitmans, @madas-ahatters-world , @little-escapist @thesleepyskipper @caterpills

@nocoastposts, , @thinkof-england , @shame-is-a-wasted-emotion

@blurglesmurfklaine @blueeyedgrlwrites

[achromatophoric]

https://www.tumblr.com/museaway/746766290005508096?source=share

2,3,4,7,8,9,10,14,16,17,19,22,24,25,26,28

-🤔

[Warning: This is stupid long. Yikes.]

2. Character’s POV being explored:

Oops. My Incorrect Quotes don’t really have a POV. 😅 I think at most, I’ve explicitly removed a character from the end of a couple, to emphasize the joke through only the remaining character’s dialogue.

3. Feelings about current WIP:

I’m not happy with the end, so it might just sit there for a few more days until I figure it out.

4. Unwritten story idea:

I have a very rough outline of an actual fic! Future Wenclair, post college. It’s… super dark. Just a torrid angst spiral from Enid’s POV, where she begins to unwittingly choose her work and social life over her wolf and Wednesday, with terrible consequences.

I put it together last year, before I actually started writing anything. It’s unlikely to see the light of day, because I honestly don’t have the energy, attention span, and sequential periods of uninterrupted free time to try writing anything in long format. 😢 Maybe someday!

7. Preferred writing font:

Something san serif. I’d prefer one with a bit more letter spacing, but I’m stuck with Tumblr’s default font, Favorit-Tumblr.

8. If I had to sequel one:

Probably this old one, about Wednesday and her pet blog. I have ideas about reblogs and blog reproductive cycles.

9. Elapsed time for the last one:

Today’s took maybe 10-15 minutes from start to posting. I needed something short since I wanted to do my daily post before answering this Ask. My notes only read “Hard to swallow” and it basically wrote itself. It took just as long to find the right animated gif as it did to write it out. 😅

10. Longest rest for a draft before completion:

Intentional rest? I guess this one at 5-ish days, where the gang takes turns answering the question: What’s the best thing about dead bodies? I just wasn’t feeling the gang’s banter, so put off fiddling with it until it felt interesting again.

There’s normally scant delay between writing and posting. If I’m lucky, I might have 1 or 2 completed IQs waiting to be posted. I try to post at least 2 per day and I’m terrible at not posting one the moment it’s completed, so… yup. 😒

14. Inspiration source:

Primarily the fandom! I wouldn’t be able to write these if I hadn’t first read so many Wenclair fics that parodying the characters became possible. I really do rely on the community-created tropes and personalities to act as the skeleton upon which meaty puns are anchored.

16. Favorite place to write:

In my home office during work hours, where I can go mostly undisturbed, have a super comfy Steelcase Leap to relax in, music, and a tablet at the ready.

Yes, work hours. I tend to do my job quickly and well, but nothing gets those creative juices going better than having something else you should be doing. 😅

17. Writing and editing process:

Idea? Jot it down. Keep a list. Time to write? Check ideas. Pick one that looks fun. Write it. Nothing interesting? Uh. Do one of the following:

Look through animated gifs of dogs doing derpy things for wolf Enid (tedious AF)

Search idioms based on words that Wednesday can take too literally

Wonder what would piss off Bianca > Yoko > Weems > other character (ordered by favorite)

Think up a bad joke for Enid to tell Wednesday so she gets mortifyingly aroused

Find slang for Wednesday to misinterpret

If all else fails, dive into that gutter humor 😬

Etc?

With an idea in hand, I just start writing it out straight in the Tumblr app. Totally rawwolfing it. When it’s done, I review and check for (and fail to find) errors. Sometimes I’ll run it by my SO, who isn’t a Wenclair fan, but can confirm if a joke makes sense.

After that, I tag and release the thing into the wild, so it may derp free of my fragile little skull.

19. Most interesting fic-related research topic:

The historical material composition of hanging nooses and the strength differences between traditional hemp and modern Manila hemp, which is actually made from a specific Filipino banana tree as opposed to Cannabis plants.

All that for a joke about thread count. 😗

22. Worries about public reaction and how to get past it:

It hasn’t really come up. Honestly, I’m just happy that people read my stuff and can enjoy a laugh. It helps that I haven’t received much criticism, but I’ve also worked for years in a graphic design-related field that forced me to be able to produce (often dumb) fruit even when in an inhospitable environment near barren of sincere appreciation and/or constructive criticism. 😬 Kinda like a creative extremophile.

For advice to get past it? Keep at it. Find your audience(s) if you care to and focus on them. Keep in mind what you enjoy about the hobby and nurture that sucker. Learning how to shrug off negativity takes experience, but when in doubt, take a break! It’s a hobby, and even if it may at times feel otherwise, remember that it does not define you.

24. Recharge method when not creative:

Reading Wenclair fics and listening to audiobooks. I always have a book queued up and jump between fantasy, urban fantasy, lit rpg, cozy fantasy, sci-fi, bio-terrorism thrillers, queer romance, queer horror, and queer coming-of-age. 😅

25. Hobbies other than writing:

Drawing and semi-regular D&D. There’s other stuff I haven’t had time to enjoy lately, like computer games, clay sculpting, mask making, dancing, juggling, fire spinning, etc.

26. Writing around others:

I am always around others outside of work, so I make do. It’s usually fine, unless said others are those who are prone to toddling. Trying to write around one of them is often a lost cause. 😭

28. Least favorite part of the writing process:

For me, it’s transcribing posts from Tumblr to AO3. Particularly posts with a lot of styling, like small text and Chat. Not everything copy/pastes 1-to-1 and some chapters have to be manually edited as html, which is stupendously tedious doing on the phone. And if it has an image? Uuughghghh. 😖

OMG I’m done! I’m free! FREE! FR��

[justlightlysedated]

It's WIP WEDNESDAY!! And I'm here with a sneak peek for my secretly married malex fic, which is called 'call it young, dumb love (and it's just enough)'

This is the last scene of Part One!

December 2013

Michael is in the middle of a call with Isobel when his call waiting starts beeping. Since he doesn't really want to listen to anything else that Isobel is saying, he hangs up on her midword and answers the call.

"Yeah?" he answers, feeling just a bit apprehensive.

"Is this Michael Guerin?" an official sounding voice speaks, sounding sharp and precise.

"Who wants to know?" Michael asks, regretting picking up this phone call.

"I am calling on behalf of Lieutenant Alexander Manes, and need to reach Michael Guerin," the person says, sounding just slightly annoyed, but Michael ignores that as his heart lodges into his throat and starts pounding.

"Yes, I am Michael Guerin, is Alex okay?"

"This is a courtesy call in accordance with paperwork previously submitted by Lieutenant Manes. There was an incident, where Lieutenant Manes was hurt and he is undergoing surgery. We cannot release any more information at this time, but will be letting you know as soon as we are aware of the outcome."

Michael doesn't feel as relieved as he should be. And he barely hears what the person on the other end of the phone says before they hang up.

Alex is hurt, and he's probably somewhere halfway around the world, and Michael can't do anything but stay here and wait for a phone call that might tell him that Alex had died in the middle of a surgery.

It had been over a year since the last time he actually saw Alex face to face. And that last time hadn't ended well. Alex had told him that he was being sent overseas, and he had no idea when he'd be back. Michael had gotten drunk and had picked a fight with Alex during his last night.

He'd driven off without knowing where he was going to go, and found himself in the drunk tank before the night was over.

By the time he'd made it back to the airstream, it was after noon and Alex had been long gone.

He'd left behind a note, a small slip of a thing that Michael hadn't seen for a couple of weeks, until he'd had someone else in his bed and they'd found it.

Michael had snatched the piece of paper away from them and kicked them out without further ado.

In Alex's terrible handwriting had been the message, I'm sorry. I love you.

Michael looks down at his phone and pulls up his recent messages from Alex. Alex can't really text from overseas, but he sends emails, and his last email came several weeks ago, telling Michael that he's sorry for missing their anniversary once again.

Michael finds himself spiraling, thoughts coming all at once and overwhelming him. He falls back on his bed and leans down, dropping his head in his hands, before leaning down and reaching for one of the bottles stashed beneath his bed.

He barely remembers anything about the next several days. He's sure somewhere in that drunken stupor he gets a call regarding Alex's outcome, but Michael stops answering any phone calls, and hides his phone away somewhere he won't be able to find it easily.

It's almost three weeks of this, and two interventions by Isobel and one by Max that ends with Michael throwing up all over the floor of Max's jeep, when Michael gets woken up by a loud knocking on his door.

Michael groans, feeling like his brain is about to explode out of his skull. He tries reaching for any bottle with liquid, but out of all of the bottles on his floor, all of the ones he can reach seem to be empty.

There is another flurry of knocks on the door, and Michael shuts his eyes tight, not wanting to deal with this, but knowing that whoever knew to find him here, wouldn't just leave him alone.

He lets out a long sigh, and then forces himself off the bed.

"Guerin!" a voice calls out as the person knocks again. At the sound, Michael freezes, feeling both weightless and like his body is made out of concrete.

"Alex," he says in a low voice, before he moves faster than he had this whole time and whips the door open.

And there he is.

Alex.

Standing right in front of Michael, looking exasperated and tired, with his arm in a sling and white bandages peeking out from beneath the collar of the plain black shirt he's wearing.

As Michael stares at him, Alex smiles, looking relieved and happy to be standing in front of Michael.

It's a sight for sore eyes. Michael feels something that had been weighing him down, wrapped around his ribs, dissolve instantly.

For the first time since receiving that call, Michael feels like he can breathe again.

"Hello," Alex says, soft and fond, waving with the hand not strapped to his chest.

Michael is startled into movement, he drops down from the entrance of the airstream and walks right into Alex, wrapping his arms around him. Alex flinches minutely, but before Michael can think to let him go, Alex wraps his good arm around Michael's waist and presses his face hard into Michael's shoulder, slumping into his hold. In return, Michael tightens his hold on Alex, leaning his head against the top of Alex's head.

He doesn't know how long they stay standing like that, but before too long, Alex pulls back stiffly. 

Michael lets him go immediately, clenching his hands to stop himself from reaching out again and pulling Alex close. He wants to pull Alex's shirt off, and unwrap all of his bandages and take a good look at his wound.

He envies for the first time in his life that Max is the one who can heal people.

It would be worth it, telling Alex his secret, no matter how he would react if he could stop Alex from hurting.

Alex breathes in deeply, "I know it's been a while, but come with me? There's something I want to show you."

He holds his hand out, and Michael wants nothing more than to take his hand and follow him anywhere.

But he still remembers how they'd left things the last time that he'd seen Alex face to face. An issue they hadn't talked about in any of the emails they've sent each other over the last couple of months.

"What are you doing here?" Michael asks instead of grabbing Alex's hand and never letting go. "Thought you said you'd never step foot back in town."

Alex inhales deeply, but he looks at Michael like he had been expecting push back so is not surprised. Michael wants to bristle at that, but despite not knowing about Michael's whole alien thing, Alex knows him the best out of everyone.

"I was angry, and I wanted to hurt you," Alex says, the words rehearsed, like he's repeated them to himself over and over. "You were pushing me away, even though you know it's futile. I was scared that I was going to die. And getting shot just puts things into a bigger perspective."

Michael can't help the way that he reacts to that last part. Alex just gives him a pleading look.

"We're still married. You're still my husband. If I wanted nothing to do with you, I'd have sent you divorce papers."

Michael nods his head once. He swallows back the words he wants to say, telling Alex that he's sorry for what he said, that he hadn't meant any of it either, that Alex leaving always tore him apart, and Alex going overseas for an undetermined amount of time was something that he didn't think he could survive.

He'd been wrong. Somehow, he survived, but that doesn't mean that it didn't hurt like hell.

"This year's been hell," Michael finds himself saying, and Alex nods his head in agreement.

"I know, for me too, but I think what I have to show you will make the next couple of years easier to bear."

Michael breathes out, and then nods his head once again, reaching out for Alex's still outstretched hand.

Alex tugs him away from the airstream, barely letting him close the door behind himself.

Michael doesn't know how Alex got here, but he lets himself be pushed into his truck, and follows Alex's directions, driving across town, the streets still in the barely there light of the morning. They drive down a dirt path and through winding roads, until they reach a house, not in the middle of nowhere, but far away enough from every other house in the neighborhood to give the illusion of privacy. 

They pull in front of the almost dilapidated house, the paint on the garage door is peeling and the wooden fence is rotting in places.

Alex tells him to park the truck in the driveway and gets out before the engine is off. Michael follows after him at a slower rate, watching as Alex pulls a pair of keys out of his pocket and opens the front door, turning to look at Michael once before walking inside.

Michael follows him inside, down a hallway with peeling wallpaper and cobwebs hanging around the corners, and into a large space where a single chair sits in the middle. 

He finds Alex sitting down on the low counter that separates what looks like the kitchen from the rest of the room, looking at Michael eagerly.

"What is this place?" Michael asks, because he knows what his heart is hoping for, but it all seems too good to be true. 

"It's a house," Alex says obviously, ignoring the look that Michael gives him. "I bought it for us. Both of our names are on the deed."

Michael takes an unintended step towards Alex and then forces himself to stop, "What?"

"You said you wanted to be married. That you wanted a house, kids, a dad band."

Alex doesn't look at Michael as he speaks, like he can't bear to look at his face, like he thinks that Michael has changed his mind.

"We have a domestic partnership, but gay marriage has been legal here for a couple of days, we can go get an actual marriage license. And we have this house. The rest of it I'll give to you once my contract is up. If that's still something that you want."

Michael is moving before Alex can finish speaking, getting into his line of sight, and looking at him seriously.

"What about you?" Michael asks, as Alex watches him with dark confused eyes. "What do you want?"

Alex straightens up, giving Michael a serious look, "What I want hasn't changed."

Michael's eyes dart all over Alex's face before he steps closer, setting one hand down beside where Alex is sitting.

Alex looks down at his hand and follows his arm back up to Michael's face.

"I still want all of it with you," Michael says, and feels something crack in his chest at the look of relief that Alex gives him. "But I hate it when you're gone."

"I hate being gone," Alex says helplessly. "But I still have five more years."

Michael exhales roughly because he knows. He knows that Alex signed up for one of the longest military contracts there was, that he did it because once he got out, he would be set for life.

Alex keeps talking, "I know it's a lot to ask, but if you're willing to wait, I'll give you everything you want and more. I've spent this last year thinking about what you said, and I want to build this life with you, but you have to stop pushing me away. I'm in this for good."

"I'll try," Michael says after a long moment.

"That's all I'm asking for," Alex says back, lifting one hand to Michael's shoulder and sliding it up to the side of his neck. 

Michael shivers at the touch and sets his other hand on the counter, caging Alex between his arms.

Alex leans in close and presses his forehead to Michael's, closing his eyes.

"I've missed you," Alex says in a low, shaky voice. "Emails really aren't enough. Especially when you take so long to answer."

Michael hums in agreement, leaning in closer to nudge his nose against Alex's.

Alex pulls back a little bit, opening his eyes and lifting an eyebrow in question.

Michael drops his eyes to the bandages he can still see peeking out of the collar of Alex's shirt.

"Can I?" he asks, looking back up to Alex's face.

Alex gives him an unreadable look for a moment before he nods his head.

Michael doesn't waste any time. He slides the sling off Alex as carefully as he can, but Alex still hisses a little, clenching his jaw.

Michael doesn't stop, though, moving his hands to the hem of Alex's shirt and urging it up over his head. 

Alex keeps quiet through it all, not saying anything as Michael starts to unpeel the gauze covering the wound.

Michael feels the air punching out of his lungs as he looks at the still healing wound. There are no stitches, and it is mostly closed up again, the scar tissue looking very red and new. Michael's hands shake as he presses his fingers to the scar. Alex's breath hitches at that, and Michael looks up to his face.

Alex's eyes are closed, and his brow is furrowed.

"What happened?"

Alex inhales deeply and opens his eyes. "There was an ambush, and I was shot. The bullet went straight through, but the injury was aggravated afterward, and I had to have surgery or risk losing any mobility for good."

Michael closes his eyes, leaning down and pressing a kiss on the edge of the wound. Alex's breath hitches again, and his hand goes to the back of Michael's head, fingers tangling in the strands.

Michael doesn't move, pressing his forehead to Alex's shoulder, careful not to press down on the injury.

"I wish-" he starts, not knowing how he's going to end the statement.

He wishes he could wrap Alex in bubble wrap and keep him trapped in the airstream for the rest of his life. He wishes that he could go with Alex and protect him when he's out in the battlefield, sending anything that could hit and injure him far, far away. He wishes he could finally find all the pieces of his spaceship and take Alex far away from this hell of a planet.

Alex tugs against his hold on Michael's hair, and Michael lifts his head, and Alex tugs him into a kiss. 

Michael pushes into the kiss immediately, wrapping his hands around the backs of Alex's knees and tugging him in closer before wrapping his arms around Alex's waist and kissing him harder. 

Alex hitches his knees on either side of Michael's hips, lifting his injured arm with a hiss, separating their mouths.

Michael makes to pull back, opening his mouth to apologize, but Alex digs his fingers to Michael's scalp and crosses his shins behind Michael's thighs, pulling him closer.

"No, stay, stay," Alex says, voice low and scratchy as he kisses him again.

Michael falls against Alex, hands pressed to Alex's back and licks into his mouth.

Alex moans and rubs his hand across the back of Michael's neck.

Michael loses himself in the kiss, pressing closer and closer until Alex is lying back on the counter and Michael is climbing up after him.

Alex's head falls back as he gasps for air, and Michael presses his mouth to Alex's throat, sliding his hands down to undo the button on Alex's jeans.

"Not where I imagined the first time we'd have sex in this house," Alex says, fingers tugging restlessly against Michael's hair.

"Oh yeah?" Michael mutters against the skin of his throat, hands sliding into Alex's boxers.

Alex makes a strangled sound as Michael wraps a hand around his half-hard cock, and his head thunks back against the counter.

"Yeah," he says breathlessly. "There's a reason I had a mattress delivered earlier today."

Michael lifts his head at that, moving his hands out of Alex's pants to help himself balance above him. Alex makes a noise in protest at the back of his throat, but opens his eyes to look at Michael.

"So sure of yourself that you needed a mattress, huh?" Michael asks teasingly, leaning in close enough for a kiss but not taking it.

Alex just grins up at him, "Where else did you think I was going to sleep for the next six weeks of medical leave?"

Michael goes still with surprise for one second, eyes darting all over Alex's face before he kisses him hard and fast.

Alex laughs as Michael gets down from the counter, wrapping his arms around Alex's waist and tugging him upright, before wrapping his hands around the back of Alex's thighs and hauling him into his arms.

Alex's laugh turns into a delighted gasp as he wraps one arm around Michael's shoulders and presses the fingers of his bad arm to Michael's face. The tips of his fingers too cold against Michael's skin.

He's still smiling as he kisses, Michael soft and sweet, before nudging their noses together, "Come on, Mr. Guerin, take me to bed."

Michael kisses him again, and concentrates on using his abilities to make sure he has a secure hold on Alex, before he turns towards the only open door where he can just see the edges of a mattress that is lying on the floor. "As you wish, Mr. Guerin."

-

For the next six weeks, Alex turns their house into a home, and Michael sleeps beside him on their bed, in their room, in their house.

And then he's gone.

Michael doesn't see him again for almost five years.

[bellaxgiornata]

Honestly I cannot believe that I've been on tumblr for just over a year now and somehow there's already so many of you wonderful people here that are reading, enjoying, and supporting my silly little fics. When I jumped over here from AO3, I had not anticipated how much fun I was going to have getting to chat with all of y'all while also sharing my stories with those of you who aren't on AO3. I've definitely made some wonderful friends this past year because of tumblr and I just want to say thank you to everyone for the support. I always mean it when I say y'all are the reason I keep writing these stories 💖

I could certainly get sappier but instead I'll just invite y'all to join me for my first ever celebration! There's a few fun things below the cut that y'all can pop up with in my ask box starting today May 3 through Wednesday May 8! I tried to think of some interesting things that I could realistically make time to do with everything currently going on in my life, especially because I'm also still trying to stockpile rough drafts for many of my stories so that I can still have updates during my upcoming "writing hiatus" (that I'll explain more about later). My plan is to answer things as they come in and hopefully have them all finished shortly after the celebration ends. And once the celebration finally ends, I'm hoping to give y'all an update to a story or a one shot!

Hopefully this will be fun for everyone!

Let's Chat! - Feel free to send me an ask about anything at all! No, seriously. You want to tell me about your day? An upcoming vacation or exciting accomplishment of yours? Do it! Or maybe you want to ask me questions about one of my stories or my writing process? Hell, feel free to ask me about myself, chat about coffee, music, books, pets, whatever!

Discuss Headcanons with Me! - Have any headcanons about Matt Murdock, Frank Castle, or Michael Kinsella that you want to chat about or share with me? Send them in! Or are you interested in a headcanon I might have about one of them in a certain situation? Feel free to ask! We can chat about the boys!

Send Me Fake FFTD Installment Titles! - Create a title name for an installment for my Falling for the Devil series (ex. "The [insert title]") and I'll write a couple of sentences about what I could picture that installment being about! You win bonus points if you can actually stump me on coming up with a plot for your title. But also who knows, maybe some title suggestions could spark an idea for future updates...

Let's Play a Game! - We can play would you rather, have you ever, or fuck/marry/kiss (or kill). For the record, f/m/k can be with anyone from Daredevil, Punisher, Defenders, Kin, or even any of Charlie's characters that I'm familiar with (Matt, Michael, Owen, Henry, Tristan, or Adam) or those of Jon's that I'm familiar with (mainly Frank, Shane, or Julian). If you can think of another game feel free to play it with me!

Ask the Boys! - Do you enjoy my weird internal dialogues with fictional characters that probably make me sound crazy? Great! Feel free to send me an ask to either one or all of the fictional men that live in my head (Matt, Frank, and/or Mikey) and I'll relay whatever they respond with in something of a short internal dialogue!

Request a Sneak Peak! - Since I have been stockpiling quite a few WIPs and rough drafts for a couple of months now, I am open to y'all just requesting a sneak peak. If you do, I will share a snippet from a fic I choose at random from something that's either a fully finished rough draft or still a work in progress!

**You're more than welcome to participate multiple times, but all I ask is that you (1) send things in separate asks, (2) are not rude to me or anyone else, and (3) are 18+ to discuss anything spicy (this is an 18+ blog anyway so I'd hope everyone here already is).**

[cer-rata]

WIP Wednesday: Valentine's Violence Edition

Listen, I've made a lot of dubious life decisions, okay.

...And that's not stopping today!

For some reason, I've decided to try to finish three WIPs by the 14th.

Which actually means midnight the 13th.

I'm not going to tell you how much I've actually written, but I will reaffirm that this is a mistake.

So here's the deal. I will post the names of these three WIPs, you, if it pleases you, can DM the name of one of those WIPs, and I will write at least a paragraph of said work.

You can send more than one even, fuck it, the house is already on fire, but if you do send a couple in a row, maybe mix it up a lil idk.

I'll be working on these today and all day tomorrow as I try to get it together.

In any case, the WIPs:

"Lost Time" (Slobo/Anita Fite)

"A Light at The End" (Duke Thomas/Bao Pham)

"No Return" (...look there's a lot of shit going on here okay, if you see a tag and you don't understand why it's there, it probably has something to do with this--)

That's it, please, please use this opportunity to beat my ass.

I will tag people, however, instead of inflicting you with this, I instead direct you to my friend @shadowuserannie 's Much More Sane Writing Game Rules to follow instead.

Anyway, violence:

@kara-zor-els @radioactive-earthshine @paladin-of-nerd-fandom65 @authenticaussie @im-not-buying-it-ether @fancyfade @strunmah-mah @jellyfishjuliet @heartofrhea

If I've forgotten to hit you...I'm...sorry...?

[blitzwhore]

Haven't done WIP Wednesday in a few weeks because my fic ideas were in their rumination phase, but I'm finally writing again! Here's a snippet of chapter 3 of my tattoo shop AU 👀

When he turned back to Stolas, Blitz found him lingering, not quite knowing what to do with himself.

He was too fucking adorable for his own good, and Blitz had to stop himself from reaching out to coax Stolas’ fingers away from the scarf’s threads.

“Wanna head outside?” he asked instead. “I was gonna go get tacos a few shops down, if you wanna join.”

He usually brought lunch to work, much like everyone else, but he’d spent too much of his morning making pancakes and being gay, so he’d ended up throwing together a couple sandwiches for Loona and calling it a day. The potential of getting Stolas to join him for lunch had definitely played a part in his decision-making, of course.

“Tacos sound nice,” Stolas said with a shy smile.

Blitz resisted the urge to bite his lip and instead focused on looking as dignified as possible as he walked around the counter and threw on his jacket. He would not make a fool of himself in front of Mills.

“See ya later, B,” Millie said, and Blitz could hear the shit-eating grin under her nonchalant tone.

“Yeah, yeah, see ya,” Blitz mumbled, barely managing not to flip her the finger. Fondly, of course.

“Oh, um,” Stolas said suddenly, eyes flying quickly from the floor to Millie, then back down. “I—I should probably introduce myself. I’m Stolas. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Millie.” She shrugged. “And, trust me,” she added with a little laugh, “I know who you are.”

“Okay, bye now, Mills,” Blitz said really loudly, and pushed a heavily blushy Stolas out the door before the urge to turn around and murder his best friend got the best of him.

Tagging @stolitzsings @sunsetofdoom @helluvagirlboss and anyone else who wants to participate! ❤️

[steddieunderdogfics]

This week’s writer spotlight feature is:  LadyKailitha! @ladykailitha has 33 fics posted to AO3 in the Stranger Things fandom and 32 of them are in the Steddie Tag.

Our anonymous nominator recommends the following works by @ladykailitha:

Little Runaway

Staking My Claim

I'll Be Your Knight

Eddie's Big Stevie Rescue

"LadyKailitha is a wonderful writer both on Tumblr (shout out to WIP Wednesday, makes my day!!) and on AO3! They absolutely deserve all the recognition and respect for their work. And now I'd like to share the love 🫶"-- anonymous

Below the cut, @ladykailitha answered some questions about their writing process and some of their recommended work!

Why do you write Steddie?

I’m obsessed with them. LOL! On a more serious note, it’s because I relate to the two characters a lot and want to see them happy.

What’s your favorite trope to READ?

Childhood friends. I just love watching them be friends as kids and then grow apart and then back together again. I could read it a billion times and do it again. As long as there’s a happy ending of course.

What’s your favorite trope to WRITE?

AUs. Just all of them. I like canon Eddie and Steve, but putting them in different worlds and still finding ways to make them who they are. chef’s kiss

What’s your favorite Steddie fic?

There are so many good ones but one that I’ve read several times is STRIKE TEN by oaseas. So good.

Is there a trope you’re excited to explore in a future work but haven’t yet?

That’s the best part of steddie is not knowing there’s a troupe I want to write for until inspiration strikes. Like I never thought I’d do a sugar baby/daddy AU, but I’m currently writing one. Ditto for omegaverse, but now I’ve written two from the same universe. But as I’m typing this… probably sentinel/guide. The idea has always intrigued me.

What is your writing process like?

First is day dreaming up an idea. Then depending on how long the idea is, I’ll do a short write up about. If it’s long, then it gets treated with plot beats I want to hit. I don’t consider it an outline, because they aren’t in order. Then I will sit down and start writing. I will do at least 400 words a day and keep at it until I have at least 3 or 4 chapters into it before I start posting.

Do you have any writing quirks?

I have to have a backlog of unpublished chapters because I worry if I’m not putting out stories people will lose interest. It’s also so that if I write myself into a corner I can go back a couple of chapters if I have to and change it to fit the new direction the story is going.

Do you prefer posting when you’ve finished writing or on a schedule?

Definitely on a schedule. I’ve tried waiting until I’m done and I just get too excited for other people to read it and start posting.

Which fic are you most proud of?

Well Met By Moonlight. I’m really proud of the world building and mystery.

How did you get the idea for Little Runaway?

When I first got into the fandom, there was a severe lack of Eddie and Steve postseason 2 and I really wanted to lean into that a bit.

When writing Little Runaway, what was something you didn’t expect?

Max becoming a reader insert in a way. Where you see the characters through her eyes at the end.

What inspired Staking My Claim?

LOL! Steve licking Eddie’s hand like he was a cupcake he didn’t want to share.

What was your favorite part to write from Staking My Claim?

Jeff. I loved how he just kinda rocked up and said, “As Eddie’s boyfriend, you are now my responsibility and no, you don’t get a say in this.”

How do/did you feel writing I'll Be Your Knight?

I love this one. It really does not get enough praise honestly. I loved the idea of the sound of Steve’s lighter as he lights and puts it out over and over again. I just really loved the idea of Steve guarding Eddie because he’s part of the group now.

What was the most difficult part of writing Eddie's Big Stevie Rescue?

The subject matter. It’s one of my darkest fics because Steve gets slipped a date rape drug and the fall out of not trusting the people you care about with the deepest parts of yourself. Also, keeping the tension ramped up.

Do you have a favorite scene and/or line from any of your fics?

I absolutely love the scene with Billy and Steve from “Never Hold Back Your Step…” when Billy gets Steve’s lifeguard job and Steve calls him a washed up surfer. That whole takedown was cathartic as hell.

Do you have any upcoming projects or fics you’d like to share/promote?

I’m currently working on a couple that I think are just so much fun. “The Hellfire Exotic Club” a stripper AU that has been a blast to write. And “Of Butterflies and Backstrokes” the Olympic swimmer AU. I’m proud of that title, too.

Outside of these questions, Is there anything YOU would like to add?

nope!

Thank you to our author, @ladykailitha, and our anonymous nominator! See more of LadyKailitha's works featured on our page throughout the day!

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[emsprovisions]

wip wednesday

Thank you for the tags @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut @tellmegoodbye @heartstringsduet!!

Not sure where I’m going with this one yet but it’s been on my mind for a couple of days! 💕

“Do you think you would’ve had a crush on me in high school?” TK asks suddenly, stroking his thumb over Carlos’s cheek in his 10th grade school photo.

Carlos looks over at him and down at the picture in his hand. His teenaged self is nearly unrecognizable. He was so full of self loathing back then. He never let himself shine. His hair is gelled down in the photo, probably his mom’s doing. His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Probably,” Carlos says, lifting up TK’s similar school photo. He was handsome, even then, all wild hair and bright eyes that begged for trouble. Carlos is sure he wouldn’t have even been a blip on high school TK’s radar.

“I would’ve thought you were the hottest guy in school,” TK grins.

“You’re such a liar.” Carlos chuckles and puts the picture down and reaches for another one from the box, one of TK with his mom and Enzo at a Broadway show.

They’d decided to go through old pictures together. Not for any particular reason. TK had said he wanted to see some pictures of Carlos as a kid and offered to let Carlos see more of his as a fair trade. It’s how they’ve ended up on the couch, old photographs spilling all across their coffee table.

“I’m not lying,” TK insists. “Look at you!”

Carlos rolls his eyes. “Can’t we just settle for you thinking I’m the hottest guy in the world, now? You wouldn’t have noticed me in school, TK. We existed in two entirely different worlds.”

TK had been out and proud. He played sports and was popular. He seemed so unapologetic in who he was, but Carlos couldn’t relate. He’d been reserved in high school, just starting to figure out he didn’t give a damn about cheerleaders in short skirts. It was the football players he ogled on game day, their lean asses in those tight pants. No one knew who he really was, what he really was. He buried that part of himself well until it threatened to consume him when he was 17.

He opened the lid of emotions and immediately let it come crashing back down. He didn’t feel like he belonged anywhere. Only Iris knew him, completely and unapologetically. So, he thought that was enough, that she could know who he was and accept him anyway, love him anyway, marry him anyway.

Carlos swallows thickly. Maybe this was a bad idea.

No pressure tags! @lemonlyman-dotcom @nancys-braids @strandnreyes @ironheartwriter + Open!