#that Fire and Ice one reminds me of my WIP

[mumblingsage]

Another batch of terrible opening sentences for our shock and delectation!

Some of my favorites:

If there’s a snake in your boot, you dump it out by the creek, and if it’s got feathers, you dump it out in the creek, and if it’s talkin’ at you, you dump it out gently and apologize and keep an eye out for the mama dragon, and tarnation these city slickers don’t know the first thing about stayin’ alive out here. Mara Lynn Johnstone, Santa Rose, CA

(I'd actually read a book that started like this, even!)

After the unfortunate events involving the wicked stepmothers of Cinderella, Snow White, and Hansel and Gretel, the city council set out to ban all men from remarrying until further notice. Ezra Greenhill, Portland, OR

***

The tall, slender seductress had Tom Pauley wrapped around her little finger, and she had James McGee hanging from a necklace, but the police were still waiting for the lab results to determine whose body parts she had used to make her earrings and that stunning tennis bracelet. Julian Calvin, Atlanta, GA

***

The second she stepped into my office I knew she was Trubble, Sarah Trubble, she was wearing a name tag and I’m a detective Phil Saunders, Barrie, Canada

***

It was a dark and stormy day easily confused as night (for it is December in Svalbard that our story lies) and probably not helped by all the Julebokk we had drunk, but when in Svalbard . . . Bill Anderson, Dublin, Ireland

(I swear I've heard Svalbard name-dropped more often this year than ever before in my life, but I digress...)

Draxyl’s breathing quickened—finally, in his hands he held the Sacred Jewel of Grondor, the key to the legendary Chamber of Secrets, the icon that so many had died for, and the perfect gift to win the heart of his beloved; the question now was how to fit all those things into his pockets without the shopkeeper noticing. Dave Agans, Wilton, NH

***

Buford The Bold was the last descendant of the proud Bold family and was particularly proud of how he chose to keep “The,” his father’s middle name. Marc Luban, Chicago, IL

***

The clouds drifted lazily through the crystal blue sky like cotton candy from last summer's county fair except that if a plane flew cotton candy the engine would ingest so much sugar that it would lock up the engine and force the pilot to make an emergency landing, perhaps in the river below where the body of a white male in his mid 50's with no identification floated face down, which is where our story begins. Ken Hill, Elkville, IL

***

It was love at first sight—he was tall and broad-shouldered, with a dimpled smile, twinkling green eyes, and in keeping with his combination of statistically unlikely but deeply alluring features, type AB blood, and that condition where cilantro tastes like soap. Ananya Benegal, St. Louis, MO

***

They had gone through fire and ice to be together, but the general mood of the wedding would have been improved if he wasn't suffering from second-degree burns and she hadn't lost several toes to frostbite. Eliza Frost, Bellingham, WA

(is "Eliza Frost" her real name or a nom de plume? Either way...)

There are many, many more through the link, some of them very silly.

[girl-next-door-writes]

Defrosted

Characters: Mycroft Holmes x reader

Summary: After a grueling day, you return home, weary and stressed. But behind closed doors, the icy, calculating Mycroft Holmes melts for you alone, showing a rare tenderness.

Word Count: 1291 words

A/N: This is a mixture of requests from @anonymousmarvelfan, @howaboutlunch, @savvy-devine666, @but-hey-could-be-satan. It’s been sitting in my WIP file for a while, so I hope the final version is what you were hoping for.

The London air bit sharply through the autumn night as you pushed the door open, peeling off your damp coat with a sigh that held the weight of the day’s troubles. Exhaustion clung to you like a heavy cloak, your thoughts dulled by the long hours of tense meetings and endless paperwork. A familiar chill hung in the air, reminding you of the looming winter and the comfort of the warmth inside your home.

And then there was Mycroft.

You found him in the sitting room, seated in his usual armchair by the fire, a thick book in his hands and his brow knitted in concentration. The firelight danced over his angular features, casting shadows that softened the harsh lines of his face. He glanced up at the sound of your entrance, his expression still the practiced neutrality he wore like armor, yet there was a flicker of something warmer in his gaze.

"My dear," he greeted, voice smooth and unperturbed. “You’re home late.”

The corners of your lips lifted into a weary smile as you approached him, sinking into the sofa opposite his chair. “Yes, well, not everyone can be as fortunate as the British government’s top strategist. Some of us still have to suffer through rush-hour traffic and unreasonable supervisors.”

A small, wry smile tugged at his lips. "Indeed. I suppose not everyone can delegate quite so effectively." He closed his book with a quiet thud, setting it aside on the mahogany side table. “You look exhausted.”

You gave a noncommittal hum, your body sagging against the cushions. “That’s one way to put it. It’s just been… one of those days.”

He rose to his feet with the kind of languid grace that spoke of countless years perfecting even the smallest of movements, as if the very act of standing could be an art form. His gaze swept over you, and in the quiet moments that followed, the transformation began—the slow thawing of the ice around him.

"Wait here," he instructed softly, before disappearing down the hallway.

When he returned, he was carrying a pair of fluffy slippers, the ones you kept tucked away at the back of the closet. He knelt before you, an unexpected gesture that pulled you from your fatigue-induced haze, and with the same careful precision he applied to everything else in life, he slipped them onto your feet. His fingers brushed against your skin, and you could swear you felt the faintest spark of warmth where they touched.

"Come," he said, standing again and extending a hand towards you. "Dinner is nearly ready."

You allowed him to lead you into the dining room, where the rich aroma of a simmering meal filled the air, the scent of garlic, rosemary, and roasted vegetables weaving together in an enticing blend. On the table sat two place settings, a bottle of your favorite wine, and a dish covered to keep the heat trapped inside. It was a sight that instantly made the day’s stress seem like a distant memory.

"You cooked?" you asked, incredulous as you took in the scene.

"I’m fully capable of following basic culinary instructions," he replied dryly, though there was a trace of amusement in his eyes. "Now sit, and allow me the rare pleasure of serving you."

The meal was simple but delicious—a roasted chicken, golden potatoes, and seasoned vegetables, paired perfectly with the deep, velvety wine. Mycroft poured your glass first, as he always did, with the kind of etiquette that had become second nature to him.

As you ate, the tension slowly ebbed from your muscles, replaced by a gentle warmth that spread through you, not just from the meal or the fire, but from the quiet intimacy of sharing this moment. Mycroft, usually terse and preoccupied, allowed himself to relax, his features softening as he listened to your accounts of the day. He commented occasionally, offering wry observations that made you laugh and rolled his eyes at the absurdity of office politics.

When you had finished, he was already ahead of you, standing to clear the dishes before you could insist on doing it yourself. "None of that, now," he chided. "You are under strict orders to relax."

As he moved about the kitchen, he carried himself with the same air of precision, each step purposeful, each motion refined. You observed him as he worked, feeling the familiar flutter in your chest. It wasn’t often that you were graced with this side of Mycroft Holmes—the attentive partner who pampered and doted, albeit in his own way. It was a side that the rest of the world would never see. To them, he was the British government, a man of intellect and authority wrapped in a cold, imposing exterior. But to you, he was something more—someone who had learned to defrost in the presence of love.

When he returned, his sleeves rolled up and his usual sternness tempered by the gentleness in his gaze, he reached for your hand. "Come," he said, his voice softening. "There’s something else I’d like to show you."

He led you to the bathroom, where a bath had already been drawn, the surface of the water shimmering with fragrant oils and surrounded by the glow of a dozen flickering candles. The warmth of the room wrapped around you like a blanket, chasing away the last remnants of the chill that had clung to you all day.

Mycroft’s hands moved to remove your clothing with a practiced ease that spoke of the years you had shared together. “You’ve earned this,” he murmured against your ear, his breath warm on your skin. "Now, enjoy it."

Once you were immersed in the bath, the heat soaking into your tired muscles, he did not leave as you expected. Instead, he took a seat on the nearby stool, his long fingers deftly massaging your temples, trailing down the back of your neck, tracing a line of warmth along your spine. It was a kind of care you knew he would never show to anyone else, a private language spoken only in the sanctuary of your shared life.

For a man so famously detached, his touch held a surprising amount of tenderness. It was as though the very act of tending to you brought him some unspoken peace, a quiet satisfaction that no position or title could grant him.

"Mycroft," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. "Thank you. For everything."

His hand stilled, and for a moment, you wondered if you had broken some unspoken rule by being so candid. But then he leaned forward, his lips pressing a chaste kiss to your damp forehead. "You’re welcome, my dear," he replied, his voice a low murmur. "Though, as you well know, I do not do these things out of some obligation. I do them because…" He trailed off, and there was a pause before he continued. "Because love, real love, is seeing all the flaws, the scars, the weariness—and choosing to stay. Something I know you do each and every day.”

You gazed up at him, and in his pale eyes, you saw the quiet promise of a man who had found his heart’s refuge in you. It wasn’t a grand declaration or an ostentatious display of affection—it was something far more enduring. It was the gentle unraveling of the formidable man before you, a defrosting that came not with time, but with trust.

As the water cooled and the candles burned low, you knew that no matter how many long days or bitter nights lay ahead, there would always be this—this shared sanctuary where the warmth of Mycroft’s quiet love would be enough to melt away the chill of the world outside.

[definitelynotaminion]

Rated "R" - Part 4

First 7k here (my blog) or on ao3 here | Skip ahead to the end of my WIP doc/see all updates on patreon (full 11k doc) | The tag i'm using for this fic on tumblr (chronological order)

-

His breath picks up, exactly like a little bird trying to keep his respiration even without the cheat of tactical breathing patterns. Giving Jason his-- fuck, his honesty here, not trying to hide behind the training!

“God, I was a little asshole.” Jason says fondly. “Leaning over you, nudging you, teasing just to get a reaction.”

“It was terrfying.” Tim says, lips pursed but audibly fighting a smile. “I was worried you’d find out that I knew. Or that I was so far from home.”

“Instead you showed me a shit picture of the sky—you totally took that right before I landed on the balcony, you little shit—and stuttered through your planned lies and let me talk you into sneaking out to the corner ice cream shop.”

It’s fuzzy around the edges, just another night as Robin before the end, but Jason remembers how easy it was to coax startled laughter and wide-eyes out of the boy, how impressed he’d been when Tim shimmied down the fire escape so easily for his ‘first time’.

“It was the best of night of my life.” Tim says quietly. Not quite wistful, but something… a treasure, here, pressed into Jason’s hands.

Jason had swung the young boy back to the landing, felt his shock and joy even as he was so quiet, not whooping or screaming—Jason wasn’t suppsoed to use the grapple with civilians outside of emergencies, but aside from the stuttering and awe he hadn’t managed to get strong reactions out of Tim.

He'd wanted to.

“I’d have recognized you.” Jason announces. His head thumps back on the pillow. “At the next gala.”

A sharp inhale.

“You… that was only two weeks before Garzonas.”

“And three weeks before I fucking bit it, I gotcha.” Jason blows out air heavily. “I don’t remember the dates, but that was April. Earth Day had already happened, so…The next one would have been, what, the Belmonts’ charity ball?”

Tim disagrees with a little noise of dissent.

“Sophia Starr held a big event in May to raise money for cancer research.” He reminds. “Her aunt died from brain cancer the year before.”

“Better that than fundraising for shitty outreach programs that ended up embezzled, or tax write offs, or fucking—early movie showings.” Jason had almost forgotten the contempt in his heart for all the different reasons Gotham’s elite got together to spend their hoardes of money.

“Mm.” Tim quietly agrees. “You weren’t there.”

Jason squeezes his eyes closed, thinking about where he was instead—and what he would have given up to be there, once the trap sprung. 

Shit. He needs a distraction. Galas and balls, little birds dancing around each other.

“If I had been?” Jason tips his chin up, eyes still closed. “What was your plan, hmm? I’d have recognized you.”

A shaky inhale as his reward. Jason grins again.

“Do you think you’d have come, even if your parents weren’t in town? Tim Drake, almost old enough to be chauferred there, to apologize with a smile for his parents’ absense. Schmooze a little on their behalf.”

“I first did that to get close to… well.” Tim lets the words trail off, lets Jason pick up what had really been going on at the time. “It was closer to the end of summer by the time I realized someone had to step in.”

“Let’s not go there,” Jason decides, letting his eyes open, see the lines in the ceiling. “We’re painting a different picture, here, Tim. C’mon.”

“Yeah?” Something soft in that tone, almost breathless. Jason gets more comfortable.

“Mm.” Jason prompts. “The mysterious boy at the gala. I’m… on edge. Fed up with Bruce’s bullshit. I’d latch onto that kind of distraction.”

“Latch onto… me.” Tim blinks hard.

“You were a mystery, baby bird. I was a detective.” Jason clicks his tongue. “Besides, those parties were miserable. You would have been fun.”

[aphroditelovesu]

(no longer updated)

masterlists || rules and fandoms list || wip’s list || prompt’s lists || love letters || disclaimer: some of my works may have nsfw content in addition to the yandere genre. if you are sensitive to these topics, I recommend not reading.

© aphroditelovesu, 2022. all rights reserved. do not translate or repost my work without my permission. you are free to use my edits, but I only ask that you credit me.

⤷ genre: yandere/dark au.

✿.｡ requests are CLOSED/asks and concept are always open.彡 rules and fandoms 彡 emoji prompt list 彡 prompts list 彡 kinktober 2023 masterlist 彡 wip’s list: I, II, III, IV, V ✿.｡

⤷ BTS :  💜

⤷ BLACKPINK : 🖤

⤷ ITZY : 🧡

⤷ Stray Kids : 💙

‘‘Love you so bad, love you so bad, mold a pretty lie for you.’‘

⤷ Greek Mythology : ⚡

⤷ Egyptian Mythology : 𓂀

⤷ Historical Characters : 📜

‘‘We are the lovesick girls, you can’t just end this love on your own.’‘

⤷ The Vampire Diaries/The Originals : 🧛

⤷ House of the Dragon : 🐉

⤷ Game of Thrones : ❄️

⤷ The Sandman : ⌛

⤷ Outlander : 🗿

⤷ Wednesday : 🎻

⤷ Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug & Cat Noir : 🐞

⤷ Brooklyn Nine-Nine : 👮‍♂️

⤷ Bridgerton : 🐝

⤷ Shadow and Bone : ☠️

⤷ Outer Banks : 💰

‘‘Yeah, we were born to be alone but why we still looking for love?’‘

⤷ Percy Jackson : 🌊

⤷ Harry Potter : 🔮

⤷ A Court of Thorns and Roses : 🌹

⤷ A Song of Ice and Fire : 🔥

‘‘Love it’s so mad, love it’s so mad, trying to erase myself and make me your doll.’‘

⤷ Attack On Titan : 🗡

‘‘I’m the one I should love in this world.’‘

⤷ Marvel : ۞

‘‘I finally realized so I love me, not so perfect but so beautiful.’‘

‘‘Dearest (Y/N),

We are very happy to hear that you are back with us. It's been so long since we could hold you that we even forgot the feeling. We missed you during your absence and were almost worried to death when we learned of your disappearance. You almost had us dead! Don't ever do it again or you'll see the consequences and you know they won't be good. Or will they be? Only time will tell.

For now, we'll just leave you this letter as a reminder. But don't worry, you have a lot of letters to read and more will follow. We will send them with all the passion of a writer completely in love with its muse.

With love,

Your yanderes completely in love with you.’’

⤷ Love Letters : 💕

⤷ Love Letters II : 💕

‘‘Don’t you know that you’re toxic?’’

Thank you all so much for the kind comments and for supporting my writing despite my english not being the best. I love you all! ❤️ All the best to you guys and stay hydrated!!

₊˚.✦*:･there a̶r̶e̶✧乀✿one of☆˚˖੭ those days•.꒰˖days whe̶n̶ I✧ৎ⋆s u d d e n t l y feel♡.*⊱all a̶l̶o̶n̶e̶❛ ━ :❘❘↴when i feel˘.+*✦like I d̶o̶n̶'̶t̶ !¡❞♕‵̤ belong anywhere.:✧°whenever t̶h̶o̶s̶e̶ days°⊹come, you+tell⋆̥˚̣̣̣͙❞me❀⊰｡how p̶r̶e̶c̶i̶o̶u̶s̶ i am▾₊˚i become a.✩*⊹very special me₊˚.*:you make m̶e̶˘.+*feel s p e c i a l¸*.❀

⤷ cited songs: Fake Love ;; Lovesick Girls ;; Epiphany ;; Toxic ;; Feel Special

[eureka-its-zico]

Winterfall

Synopsis: When you thought of your life, Glenview Psychiatric Hospital was the last place you thought you’d end up. What could be weirder than calling a place like this home? Finding people who remind you that, sometimes, the messiest parts of who we are can be the best parts of us too.

Pairings: Christian Yu x Reader x Jay B x Reader (It’s a love triangle, y’all) 

Series: ongoing 

Word Count: 5186

Warnings: mentions of self-harm, mental health issues, mental disorders, slight violence, sexual themes

A/N: This is a hard one to post. I’ve had this in my WIPs for over seven years. I’ve rewritten it multiple times. Consider if this was a series, I was willing to share. As someone who suffers from BPD II and PTSD, it felt strange to dive into mental health. In a way, I felt like I needed a safe place to get it out. To share. This fic isn’t meant to be sad. It’s meant to be about growth. The journey of mental health can be a messy one, but it doesn’t have to hinder our own growth. Our sadness does not define us. If I ever miss anything in the warnings for chapters, please let me know and I’ll fix it ASAP! This fic is loosely based off of one of my favorite films, Girl, Interrupted. And remember, if you you ever need to talk: Im here.

Shout out to my bestie @deadneverlander for always being the better half in our clownery. I wouldn't be able to do half of this without you.

There was something about the bleakness of winter that seemed to make countless people’s bones ache for the warmth of summer. Their loneliness is somehow made more apparent by rain clouds and negative degrees, turning thoughts into reminiscent scenes of a doomsday film. 

You’d always claimed that fall was your favorite season because the vast spectrum of your sadness didn't match the heat of summer. Sure, you loved the possibilities of hot cocoa, warm fires, ridiculous horror, Christmas films, and the first sight of snow. Somewhere along the way, however, came the anxiety of holiday dinners. Where the comfort you’d found in overcast skies turned sinister with repeated looks that reminded you that you were the black sheep; the odd man out with another year of nothing to show.

Fall no longer meant binges on shows and breaks from the endless routine that was work and school. It meant laying in the snow until your body heat forced it to melt underneath you, seeping into the fabric of your clothes to leave your nerves numb and transparent like ice. Your mind silently hoped it would be enough to extinguish the agony that blossomed in your chest. 

Jackets were no longer marked for warmth, but strictly to hide your struggle to feel anything past the chasm that’d grown in the past couple of months: to bleed out the parts of you that didn't belong. It wasn't a surprise it's what landed you a one-way ticket to the cozy room inside a psychiatric hospital. Maybe that's just what happens when you're found unresponsive with a belly housing a fifth of rum. The marks on your skin lay like a map to follow on how you got there; only being found like a frantic afterthought. 

Glenview Psychiatric Hospital, or GSH that was strategically labeled in bright crimson above the pocket of your prison-inspired sweatshirt, had been home for three months now. It was meant to be a place of healing, among the basic mood stabilizing and therapy sessions everyone held in a day. You felt further away from that concept with every group activity the doctors forced you to take part in. Your social anxiety becoming apparent each time it lands on you to speak, either to close the circle, or to be a part of the ridiculous game activities. The last time you played volleyball your face saw more action with the pleather ball than your arms ever did. 

It was currently 12:47 p.m. The clock giving you a false sense of hope that the time wouldn’t just creep by to leave you stranded the last thirteen minutes until you’d earned your freedom. There was, however, the off chance if Dr. Thompson wasn't hearing what he wanted; the hour-long group activity would be extended. 

You scanned the other six faces that made up your group: the huddled mess of piled sweaters and huddled blanket of Soomi a fleeting moment of comfort. It only took your eyes adjusting on her figure to know she didn’t have one. Her tiny body composed of thick layers of clothes to portray a false sense of shape. Her anorexia becoming so severe her family had no other option but to put her here, or watch her die. Jason’s endless finger taps on every surface he could touch the only giveaway to his OCD until he removed himself from his chair. Sejun with his alcoholism and Yuna with her acidic imagination that the wind whispered her deepest secrets out into the world. 

All this ending with your gaze narrowed on the statuesque figure of Jaebum who comically sat opposite of your current position. The two suicidal inmates that shared in the anxiousness of sadness but little else, and the usual reason why your group never seemed to end on time. 

You couldn't say it was a shame to be stuck sitting dead center of someone so attractive; as shallow of an observation as it was there was no denying how ungodly true that statement was. He held a silent attractiveness that resonated in the solitude he kept around himself, and Jaebum was indeed a solitary creature.

He preferred books over people. Usually moving away from anyone who got close to his latest reading perch without ever glancing up from his current book. Jaebum’s favorite place he’d reserved to get lost inside his fiction the seal of the window that looked out the expanse of the institute’s backyard. The entire estate currently covered in the dead burgundy and gold of a forest of oak tree leaves. 

It wasn't like you were laying avid amounts of your attention on him or anything. You didn't pay attention to how broad his shoulders looked in his old man sweaters that you could've bet money smells like mothballs. How his features seemed sharpened to match the fierceness that lived inside his eyes. The only thing that exposed his softness was the speck of a mole that dusted itself on his left eyelid. 

Jaebum just held a presence that demanded to be noticed. Whether he himself liked it or not. 

“Jaebum: do you have anything you’d like to add to the session?”

Dr. Thompson’s question made the both of you jolt in your seats. Youwere too busy staring down at your nails while you plucked away at the cuticles. Jaebum's head turned, unbeknownst to you, from looking at you to the good doctor. It was enough to make your cheeks flush hot. 

His crossed arms gave a soft shrug, and you hated how your eyes stayed captivated by the movement. You were willing to blame it on the charcoal-worn cable knit sweater he favored. It really did smell like moth balls and age making you willing to bet it wasn't his to begin with. 

“We talked about this guys. Shrugging is not an adequate substitute for an answer.”

His tone showing his frustration more than anger at his need to repeatedly inform the group. Dr. Thompson looked at each of you individually until he stopped on Jaebum, who didn’t seem the least bit moved. 

“I have nothing to say.”

A sigh escaped from Dr. Thompson’s lips as his head shook softly. His eyes averted down to the tin clipboard momentarily before they resumed their previous position. 

“And what is it exactly you would like me to add, huh?” You felt your body tense against the chair. Your hands grasping at its edges like it would be the only thing to keep you stable against the oncoming rage that was Jaebum’s agitation. “We do these pointless sessions over and over: again and again. For what? Do you think it “saves” anyone?”

Your eyes diverted from the safety of your knees; counting every frayed piece of cloth on your jeans that hung loose from torn holes. No part of you needed to acknowledge that he was standing. The room did that well enough with the tension his power caused. The room itself swelling with anxiety that made fidgety Sera begin to rock violently against the back of her chair. Her head shaking hair into her face, like a curtain to hide what she feared was coming her way like the abusive hands of her father. 

The orderlies were already beginning to circle his chair, but Dr. Thompson held up a hand of warding. He reminded you too much of an irresponsible ring handler at a circus. Unwilling to recognize his own tiger was about to maim him. 

“No, no that’s fair enough. I see you have an issue with the way we try and help our patients.”

“Help?!” Jaebum snarled. “Is that what you call it? Like you helped Simon remember all the things he wanted to forget! Is that what you call endless therapies until he killed himself! You consider being helpful with the way you handled Ian?”

Dr. Thompson regarded Jaebum quietly, but his eyes were focused and searching the young man’s face. You watched in helpless awe as one stood like a calm in a blazing storm, while the other raged so furiously you thought the walls would come down. No longer was his voice a strong current, but now thunderous words that hurled like lightning bolts were being directed at the man before him. 

Jaebum was right. Sometimes, the doctors picked and picked a part at you until you were left bare and raw. And if their words didn’t do it their physical methods picked up where they lacked. His anger was justified, because deep down so were you. But you didn’t have the towering strength like he did to stand up to anyone. Your fear of the seclusion rooms kept you prisoner: locked in your chair as a simple flick of Dr. Thompson’s hand sent the orderlies rushing to Jaebum’s side. 

“I think that’s enough for today’s session.” 

In the back of your mind you knew that Jaebum was right. In part. Who were counselors and psychologists to tell the broken mirrors of people how to put their pieces back together? Only to end up with more blood on their hands from struggling to put sharp pieces in place. They studied people like you, Jaebum...people like Ian who were features in their college books. They themselves barely ever one to experience it themselves. 

Healing, even if unconventional, was still healing in the end. There was no right or wrong way to get there, but here, with people like Dr. Thompson, their textbook solutions were the only solutions. Maybe that’s why it backfired so terribly with Ian. 

So for once, you wanted to stand up with Jaebum. To call out the injustices of treatments forced on patients, like Ian. Treatments they’d placed on patients that only wanted to forget, because no one wants to remember traumas and everything that makes them feel like failures. 

You knew, however, if you took that chance to be brave for once you would end up like Jaebum. Uselessly struggling against orderlies who came prepared with syringes to make you complacent and an endless day being locked for god knew how long inside seclusion. 

It was cowardice that kept your mouth shut. All of you stayed quiet as an orderly you aptly nicknamed, “The Bull,” grabbed at the neck of Jaebum’s sweater. That was all it took for him to react violently. Jaebum’s elbow flew back with such force it dislodged The Bull’s grip, which only seemed to make it worse. 

“Jaebum, please do not struggle.” Dr. Thompson’s voice didn’t sound as soothing as he probably imagined. Obvious agitation outlined every word; the struggle forcing all of you up from your chairs and away from the fighting. “Everyone out. Now.” 

A part of you hated listening. For not firmly digging your feet in to stand for something you agreed wasn’t right. It was an odd thought. Since Ian was the usual instigator of the chaos of how these ended. Never Jaebum. Maybe he just felt like in Ian’s absence he needed to take over for him. 

“You play god with everyone’s emotions and leave them to drown alone in the aftermath. You are the reason Christian keeps escaping and Hyujin is gone! It’s you! It’s all of you!”

Jaebum’s rage became more apparent with each sentence and broke as his throat formed the words of his former friend. Former because he’d found himself as one of Dr. Thompson’s experimental new treatments. A treatment that brought back too much Hyujin couldn’t cope with - was forced to confront - before he was ready. 

The ward still felt hollow - missing in the sound of Hyujin’s laugh. 

You would’ve been impressed with the way Jaebum was laying into the doctor. He was holding his own against the orderly at his arms until the Bull snuck behind him and brought him falling down to the cold concrete floor. 

That was the last you saw of Jaebum as you were ushered outside the doors. You faced them for a long time. No one questioned why you stood at the entrance as Jaebum’s yelling dulled to nothing. It was too late for you to run back and play the role of knight in shining armor and standing in front of the door would only make the staff assume you were waiting to cause a scene. 

Turning on your heel you headed towards the living area. Your mind racing heavily with indecision and not paying attention to the overcrowded chairs and couches. You bypassed them all to head to your favorite window seat. It was opposite to the one everyone knew as Jaebum’s; reading a new book every week during free time. It was so engrained to the fabric of the facility that no one tried to take it from him. Not even Ian. 

You folded into yourself as soon as you sat down on the window seat. Your chin pressed into your shoulder so you could get a better look outside. The vibrant colors of changing leaves reminding you that fall was coming. Maybe they would let you work outside if you were good? You were tired of doing bathroom and kitchen duties, but because of Ian’s latest stunt no one was allowed outside. Not until the fences were made higher with wire curled along the top. 

If thoughts could be breathed into existence, you were positive you alone would be deemed responsible for Ian walking, right then and there, through the facility's double doors. Of course, Ian could never simply enter a room quietly.

Christian entered every room like a force. Wild and unpredictable. Mother Nature couldn’t compete with his massive hurricane personality. No one could come close, because underneath all that unhinged nature was a magmatism that far outreached just good looks. 

Was Christian good looking? Devilishly so. It was his way with words, however, that left many people reeling. Not just fellow patients, but staff as well. He was painfully charming and, if you weren’t prepared for his wide-set smile directed in your direction, you were going to find yourself in trouble. Deep, deep Christian-flavored trouble. The staff had even labeled him with a warning of “verbal jujitsu” - you had to stay miles ahead of the conversation or you’d find yourself like the recently fired psych tech who’d handed over the ward keys without a second thought.

Seriously. That’s how Christian escaped this time. All the other times, well, the man could be considered the second coming of Houdini. 

“How have you been, Bob? Are your feet still giving you grief, Margo?”

It was impressive how he acted like it wasn’t a big deal he’d magically reappeared. The guard and orderlies awkwardly keep watch over the double doors he’d come through like he’d disappear back into thin air. 

You hated how happy you became hearing the richness of his voice. The way his accent reminded you of the battle of wills on what was the proper way to say, “water,” and the teasing you gave him about constantly saying, “Naurr”. 

“It’s Margaret, jackass,” the older psych tech mumbled in reply. She didn’t even bother to look up from putting a new bandage on Bob’s hands.

“Missed you too, babe.” 

You watched his reflection in the safety of the glass of the window. You didn’t want to show how eager you were to see him - or to find out that every time he left the ward became almost too much to bear alone. 

In the safety of the window, you could pretend the call to freedom was what kept your eyes hypnotized. Not the sleeveless tee he’d tucked inside the waist of skinny jeans that hugged to the muscles like paint or the layers of tattoos that covered honey skin. He wasn’t tan when he’d left. Where had Ian’s adventures taken him this time? 

You would get the chance to ask him yourself. 

When his eyes caught sight of your huddled frame curled in the window seat his trajectory changed completely. He didn’t think you’d noticed him yet, but it didn’t stop his infamous megawatt smile from brightening up his features and the butterflies he’d left trapped in your gut instantly springing back to life. 

The only downside? You were more than positive Ian saw you only as a sister. If he’d thought of you in the past as anything else you would’ve definitely known by now. As much as Ian was known for his charisma and whirlwind energy, he was also known for slipping into the janitor’s closet with more than a few now-fired staff members. 

In a matter of seconds, he left the mirage of the window to become real beside you. The smell of cigarettes and his preferred cologne enveloped you, instantly turning the space intimate. You tried your best to ignore him. Ian would receive nothing but the side eye from you after the latest shit he’d pulled. 

He let out a heavy sigh as a finger playfully poked into your side. He wiggled the digit in a weak attempt to tickle you thinking it would be enough for you to finally look at him. Fat chance. Using your elbow, you pushed down with just enough force to dislodge him from your side. The act forced a heavy sigh to flare his nostrils as he leaned back against the window. 

“Come on, ‘Roo. You can’t be that mad at me?”

Of course, he would use your nickname. The nickname you earned one night when he’d tried to tickle you until you couldn’t breathe. To be honest, he thinks you’d kicked him accidentally in the chest because you might wet yourself. The truth? Ian had gotten dangerously close. A few times it felt like his lips were just a few sharp breaths away from landing on yours, and that night you’d felt hollow. So hollow. All you wanted was to burn and Ian…he was so full of fire and life and for once you wanted to know what it felt like to be filled with something other than emptiness. 

You wanted to catch fire too. 

So you’d kicked out at him in panic. Hence how you became his Kangaroo. His ‘Roo. 

“Actually,” you began, biting out the world with each syllable. “I can be upset with you and I most definitely am.”

“Don’t be like that, ‘Roo. I know you missed me.”

“No, I didn’t. It was rather peaceful while you were off on whatever antics you decided to get into.”

A tsk sent his bottom lip into a pout as he crossed his arms. His shoulders lean further down the window and slightly into your view. 

God, why did he have to be so heartbreakingly handsome? 

You refused to make eye contact with him. Don’t do it. It’s a trick. You knew it was a trick. A sneaky ploy and yet…you looked. One look was all it took and Ian knew he had you.

“I missed you.” His voice caressed your skin like velvet causing it to erupt in goosebumps. “So, I know if I missed you that can only mean that you missed me.”

A snort of disbelief left you as you finally gave him what he’d been asking: your full and undivided attention.  

“Is that how it works, Ian?”

“Ah!” He beamed. “She finally looks at me.” 

You couldn’t keep your eyes from rolling as you tried to face away from him, but Ian wasn’t having it. 

“I shouldn’t even do that.”

“Where is all this hostility coming from?” He pouted. “Did you experience another one of Dr. Thompson’s riveting group circles?”

“It’s not funny, Ian. You always leave.” You hated how your voice betrayed you. The way it cracked before you could glue it back together. “You go and leave me here, without you, all the time. One of these days you may not come back.”

All the playfulness slowly drained from his features. The sly smile wilted to a grimace as deep brown eyes scanned over your face. Calculating your words with the body language of guarded arms and saddened eyes. His hands gently grabbed at your elbows to loosen your arms before turning you to him. His head dipped down just a bit to make sure he had you at eye level. 

“Hey, ‘Roo. I’m sorry. I come back for you, you know that right?” You knew he was lying, but try telling that to the butterflies fluttering around like crazy in your gut. “These assholes could never catch me if I didn’t turn myself in, and I only turned myself in to get back to you.” 

You didn’t know what you would’ve said at that moment. Maybe something he wanted to hear or maybe - finally - you’d have the guts to call him out on his bullshit. Luckily for you, the muffled sound of Jaebum’s screaming slowly grew louder until his struggling body was brought through the double doors from therapy. 

“Let me go, you assholes!”

You’d never seen Jaebum fight so fiercely before. The way he flailed his arms to find a way to get them released along with his legs kicking out like a madman. They practically dragged him down the hall towards seclusion. For a split second, in his struggle, his eyes landed on you. His gaze held yours for what felt like a lifetime until the spell was broken. It felt like slow motion as his face turned to see Ian on your right and all the fight drained from his body. 

Did he think he was fighting for Ian? Himself? Jaebum was never much for acting out. That was usually Ian who created trouble. Maybe that was why he looked so shocked seeing Jaebum being dragged down to seclusion. 

“Oi! What the fuck is this?”

Ian was up off the window seat in seconds. A couple of orderlies were already coming out from behind the nursing station to meet him halfway. Whatever they were saying, you weren’t all too sure. Ian was doing his usual of screaming and shoving causing the orderlies to prepare for a fight. The patients closest to all the commotion desperately trying to get out of the way. 

It was all chaos. All classic Ian. The only non-classic thing was Jaebum looking at you in a way you’d never noticed before. It created a row of questions that sat heavily on your tongue and ones you weren’t sure he would ever be willing to answer. 

It wasn’t until everything had settled down again that you snuck inside the room that held group therapy. Your eyes instantly homing in on Jaebum’s chair and underneath it one of his grandfather’s books. 

Before you dared to push all the way through into the room you gave one last cautious glance to the recreation room and slipped inside. You made sure to hold the door so it didn’t click into place. There was no denying if you were caught sneaking in somewhere you weren’t meant to be you’d be joining Jaebum in your own seclusion room. 

The sterile room with its egg-white walls was most definitely not your favorite. The only way to add your own source of color to its walls was to display your thoughts - projecting them out like a fucked up home movie that you’d rather forget. 

You made sure to cut across the room silently. Your legs bending at the knee to swoop down to grab the worn-down cover and secure it to your chest. 

You couldn’t explain why as you made your way out of the room towards the upper floor that held the seclusion rooms what made you want to do this for him. It’s not like he would thank you, but you weren’t looking for that. 

It wasn’t hard to notice the way Jaebum cared for his late grandfather's things. From the sweater he wore daily that was meticulously cleaned and laundered to the few books Jaebum was able to keep from his collection. He coveted them the way others valued trophies but it wasn’t praise that Jaebum found secluded inside their pages: it was peace. 

You didn’t know much about him. Jaebum wasn’t much of a sharer. He was reserved. The only way to know him was by the pages you held close to your chest. So, you weren’t terribly sure why you were doing this for him except for the fact you believed no one should go without something that they loved. 

Just as you were about to round the last corner to the hallway that held seclusion rooms 1 through 3, you caught a flash of an orderly speaking to a nurse. From the brief moment you’d caught before you found the safety of the opposite wall, they were more than likely flirting. 

Ted. That was the name written on his uniform. He’d called Ian a “Psycho,” a handful of times. You wondered if Ted knew the nurse he worshiped spent the same handful of nights sneaking inside Ian’s dorm. 

“Do you maybe want to go get breakfast in the morning?” 

Breakfast?! You mouthed to yourself before you snuck another peek around the corner. 

“Oh, I don’t know, Ted. I might have plans later.”

If your eyes could roll back any harder you would’ve seen brain cells. You knew exactly what her supposed plans were. You could already hear the moans that echoed down the halls like a haunting. The only thing haunted here would be you. 

You didn’t have to see Ted’s expression to know he was defeated. He was probably wondering how someone could refuse breakfast or maybe he was finally growing tired of being told no. The mystery of the unknown in this love triangle would sadly (not really) remain a mystery. You didn’t really care if they had breakfast together or hunted Easter eggs. You just wanted them to finish their awkward conversation and leave the damn hallway. 

A few more strangled pieces of conversation later and you could hear the shuffling of feet. Quickly, you moved inside a linen closet and quietly shut the door. Your ears straining - waiting - to hear a pair of feet move past your location so you could finish what you came to do. 

Every second you were out here and not inside your own dorm waiting for the nurses to come in and check you were there was one second too many in a chance at punishment. After a few more minutes went by and the coast sounded relatively clear, you creeped out from the linen closet and dashed towards the seclusion rooms. 

“Jaebum!?” You half whispered half yelled. “Jay!”

“What the hell are you doing over here?”

Ah, there was that condescending voice you’d grown accustomed to. Following the sound of his voice, and with the help of his fingers hanging out of the small seclusion window, you darted towards the back of the hall. Your arms still securely held onto his grandfather’s book and only began to loosen as you got closer to the door. 

“I wanted to bring you something before they placed it in lost and found.” 

With another cautious glance down the hall, your fingers wrapped around the edges of the book's spine. You offered it up to him and gently started to push it through the small window. Jaebum hadn’t spoken since he noticed what you held in your hands. His fingers overlapped yours as he took it from you. His arms immediately brought it inside with him with the sound of pages flipping while he made sure each page was still accounted for. 

“How did you-“ he began, but his words quickly died out. 

“Can you believe it ladies and gentlemen? For once, he was too stunned to speak,” you teased. 

Jaebum’s eyes narrowed in on your face. His hands wagged the book as if he was going to hit you over the head with it. Who knows, he might have if there wasn’t a 30-pound door stationed between you. 

“I’m serious. You came all this way to give me this?”

You shrugged his words off like what you’d done wasn’t a big deal. Both of you knew it was. So many factors that could lead you to where he was, or worse, if they believed you were trying to steal someone else’s property. Which, they one hundred percent would even though kleptomania wasn’t part of your conga line list of disorders. 

“I remember how much his things matter to you. I didn’t want Bull or Kojak The Great Dick to get a hold of it. I know they wouldn’t have respected it after today.”

You’d expected a lot of things to come out of this exchange. The main one? At least a thank you. All you were getting now felt like the cold shoulder that featured a very unnerving stare. With every second you were feeling more self-conscious and it took everything in you not to shout, “Boo!” in an attempt to get him to blink. 

You couldn’t take the awkwardness of the exchange any longer. Your feet were already backpedaling as your arms swung, thumb extended out, to indicate your exit before you spoke. 

“Great well, this was a fun chat-“

“He lies to you, you know.”

Jaebum’s words took you by surprise. You were sure that was the point. His face was set in deep lines of determination as if what he needed to say was something you needed to adhere to like the gospel from the Bible. 

“Okay, Jay I’ll bite: who is he?”

“You know who I’m talking about. Ian. It’s who he is. He doesn’t know how to tell the truth, and you always set yourself up for failure with him.”

Maybe Jaebum thought he was being helpful - calling to light all things you were aware of but couldn’t bring yourself to say out loud. You must have seemed too weak - gullible - in his eyes for him to believe he needed to say these things. 

You eyed him coolly through the window. Your tongue rolled around inside your cheek trying to decide what exactly you should say at this moment. Did he want recognition that you knew you were an idiot? What did it matter to him if you knew Ian didn’t give two fucks about you. 

So, the only thing you could settle on was the beginning of a long sigh before you spoke: “I know I might look like a love-sick puppy to you, Jay, but I know my place.”

He tried saying your name to stop you. You just ignored him as you shook your head and allowed yourself to begin to move back down the hall towards the safety of your own dorm. 

“It’s alright, Jay I get it. Take care of your grandfather’s things better, okay?”

You didn’t wait to finish your sentence before you were already turning to head down the hallway. The bottom of your feet itching for you to sprint in the opposite direction. Your mind raced over Jaebum’s words and matched them with the growing chasm in your chest.

So lost in your head, you barely caught the sound of his parting, “Thank you,” as you bolted around the corner. 

[little-bloodied-angel]

TLM WIP

The cave was dark, illuminated solely by the hole open at the top like a natural skylight, ripples of sun carried down through it by the waves, the multicolored liquid swirling and shimmering in the huge stone cauldron that rose from the ocean floor and bloomed like a strange, petrified, wide open flower, and whatever unidentifiable trinkets with their own glow set on the strangely stacked, curved shelves carved in the rock wall he could see from here. He knew it was an enclosed space, if a huge one, but somehow it seemed to stretch infinitely on all sides and even further at the back, and he didn't like the sensation prickling along his spine when he thought of turning around -turning his back- to find the exit in the entrance where he'd come from.

"We mustn't lurk in passageways, little prince. It's awfully rude, don't you know?"

The lilting, musical voice seemed to come from everywhere at once, slither over the walls and on the current and his skin and his very bones. It carried power, that much he'd learned to recognize; soft and yet as strong and clear as the bells he'd heard on the ships, from that one church loud enough to be heard on the kingdom's shore.

"I am not a little anything" he snapped indignantly. "I am-"

"I know who you are" the voice said like a thunderclap, and suddenly there was a pair of eyes right in front of his face, swirling gold and deep red and violet and something like blue fire, pearls and shards of coral clinging to long fanning eyelashes. He reared back and could see more of the witch's face, but not quite his features, distorted by zigzagging bioluminescence pulsing in his veins, a mouth like a slash of blood curving predatorily around sharp white fangs. "Worse, I know what you are, little prince. Edward Teach of the Black Throne, First Prince of the Seven, commander of the Kraken. You'll find that doesn't serve you here. None of it. You came to me. You entered the seat of my power. You're the one who wants something from me. So I will call you whatever I want, and you'll take it with a shut mouth or leave".

That blood and pearl grin got somehow more unnerving, like the jagged sharp edge of broken coral. Now he could see the witch's tail as he swirled slow, powerful, lazy circles around him, appraising him with those glowing eyes like he was a sole caught on a hook; could see the brilliance of gold set into creamy skin with no rhyme or reason for the pattern, gems and pearls following the arches of bone and the edges of scales. He didn't have fins that he could see, not in the way he did, something delicate like membrane or tulle running the dorsal space; and a rainbow of colors blended into one another for the whole length his eyes could catch, black and silver and green and red and purple and angel-white. It didn't move like his own tail either; the sideways curling of the muscle reminded him of a moray eel, instead.

Or a serpent.

"I apologize for my aggressive garden" the witch said mockingly, running an ice-cold, white-glazed finger along the bruising forming on his arms. He shuddered, both from the touch and from the realization that it wasn't flesh touching him. "But you do understand that out here, one takes certain... precautions". He stopped in front of him again, raising himself vertical, trailing a length of translucent white silk with him, cuffed to his wrists with heavy gold manacle-like bracelets with intricate decorations and dangling ornaments. Jiaoren silk, he realized. He'd heard of it, but never seen it this far from Donghai. A necklace, almost a collar really, to match them, bound the silk to his neck, above the line of pearls, mismatched in size and color, that trailed his collarbone. "Here there be monsters, little prince" he whispered, his voice wicked and blending with the unnerving susurrus of the current along the walls, those eyes boring into his, blinking slowly, twinkling with a secret joke. The dozen or so earrings he was wearing clinked against the gold around his neck with the soft movement of the water.

"I've come to buy your magic" he declared, as strongly as he could. He was not prey, and he was not weak, he reminded himself, clenching his fist to feel his rings, the pulsing of his tattoo wrapped around his arm as his bicep flexed with the motion. He was not just the wielder of the Kraken, the Kraken was part of him, and he was sure he could bring him forth anywhere he went, so long as he remembered.

That set the witch off laughing, swimming in a backwards wheel a few times, fast and violent enough to ripple the water in multiple directions and raise bubbles around his body; the sound of it somehow smooth like liquid silver and cracked like shattered glass, putting his teeth on edge. That infinitely long body of his then kept circling him again and again, torso upright and tail lashing like a whip and curling in a wide spiral.

"No, no, little prince. You've come to ask my favor, and I will toss you out on your pretty little black pearl tail if I so wish, or gut you and collect you for ingredients. You came to me. You have no power here. I will do as I please, and so will you".

"Stop circling me!" Edward snapped, turning around several times helplessly to try and face the witch. "What, were you a shark in another life?!"

In a sudden movement, the witch spun around him and spun him, and pressed his cold fleshless finger to Edward's lips, multicolored eyes glowing in amusement, stars clinging to his lashes, his tail wrapped and pressing around Edward's just above his fin.

"You will never know from me who I was in another life" he said softly, the threat of it making the very walls vibrate. "And if you keep talking like that, we will see whether your pretty little tattoo or a witch's knife have more power out here in my domain" he added, and suddenly Edward spied a gleam of ornate metal in his other hand.

"We've been given gifts by the gods, Edward", Sam's gratingly gentle voice echoed in his mind. "But a witch carries them in themselves, part of their very soul, born in their essence. They are the gifts, drops of Calypso's blood and Triton's power dropped in the currents. If you seek a witch out, even a banished one can only be contained so much. Do not forget that".

[cafecliche]

fic writer meme!

[RISES FROM THE DEPTHS] I'm here!! Thank you so much @uhuraisgay and @englishsub for the tags, and also for reminding me that I've missed Tumblr

1. how many works do you have on ao3? 50 even - which was more than I thought!

2. what's your total ao3 wordcount? 187,448

3. what fandoms do you write for?

My fic-writing impulses come along like cicada seasons, except without any regularity whatsoever: I do a lot of dabbling in a lot of fandoms, I can never really tell if something's going to light my brain on fire. Most of my fic output came from Yuletide for a long while (I loved the grab bag aspect and writing little treats for small fandoms, but then my holidays got busier), and then Yuri on Ice and MDZS were my biggest fandoms by far, especially MDZS. I've written Yuwu recently, and I'd love to write some Trigun, LoZ, or Mysterious Lotus Casebook one of these days.

4. what are your top 5 fics by kudos?

grow

the only way out

The Guests of Cloud Recesses

detente

bespoke

And the soft animal is our runner-up at #6!

5. do you respond to comments?

I usually don't unless it's a request or a question, but I read and treasure every one.

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

I am too tender for Bad Endings for the most part, but my canon-verse Nie Huaisang fic after me comes the flood does not end in a particularly good place for anyone involved. (But even then, we know it gets better for him eventually... albeit at the expense of several bystanders)

7. what's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I tend to write pretty gentle, occasionally LIGHTLY bittersweet happy endings (that's the cafecliche guarantee baby) but part of me wants to say 'the only way out' (and probably 'the yunmeng accords' series in general) here. I tend to write fic when I want to play around with the emotions or relationship dynamics that can already be found in canon, so 'the yunmeng accords' is probably as close to a fix-it as I'm going to get.

8. do you get hate on fics?

Not usually! I was part of the Great MDZS Anon Hate Train of 2021, but that was the worst I've ever gotten by several magnitudes - the vast majority of commenters are fabulous.

9. do you write smut?

Not yet! It's not off the table, though.

10. do you write crossovers? what's the craziest one you have written?

I actually don't think I've ever written a crossover! The closest I've ever gotten was when I look over my shoulder, but even that's 'Wangxian in a Conjuring-esque ghosthunters in love situation' and not really a formal Conjuring AU.

11. have you ever had a fic stolen?

I've had plagiarism brought to my attention a couple times, but truly just a handful. I still remember getting a message on FF.net that someone had ripped off a line from my Black Lagoon fic. The SCANDAL of it all.

12. have you ever had a fic translated?

MDZS is the first fandom where I've gotten translation requests, which is always so cool! To my knowledge, I've had fics translated into Russian, Spanish, and Ukranian.

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

No, but brainstorming fic concepts with my brilliant friends is one of my favorite thing in the world.

14. what's your all time favorite ship?

omg ever? Well Victuuri and Wangxian have been the ones that really lit my brain on fire (if I own the Nendos, it's serious) but let me also throw it back to Fakir and Ahiru in Princess Tutu. That is ROMANCE.

15. what is a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I would have really liked to have one more entry to 'the yunmeng accords!' I had a couple of ideas that I really liked, but nothing that caught fire quite enough to dive into it. That said, I am currently working on something short and Yunmeng Shuangjie-related, at the very least...

16. what are your writing strengths?

Emotional through-lines, pacing, and that sweet, sweet catharsis. I'm drawn to particular fandoms when they leave me with an emotion that I need to break down over the course of several thousand words, and I know that shows through in my writing.

17. what are your writing weaknesses?

Choreography! I'm not a very visual thinker, so sometimes it takes me a while just to figure out how to block the characters in a given scene. I also have a lot of trouble getting into a draft until I figure out the voice, which, when it comes to fanfic, will either come to me extremely easily or not at all.

18. thoughts of writing dialogue in another language in fics?

Yeah, absolutely! (But if you don't speak the language, do your research!)

19. first fandom you wrote for?

[rubs my temples] an X-Men crackfic.

20. favorite fic you have written?

Oh my god. WELL. 'grow' and 'the only way out' I think are the best fics I've written, and 'when I look over my shoulder' and 'the soft animal' are also extremely close to my heart. But 'detente' might be the favorite child. It just gushed out of me.

I think a great many of you have been tagged at this point, so sorry for any double-tags, but: @bluecrystalrainingdaggers @tigerjpg @floofyfluff @vinelark and anyone else who'd like to go for it!

[totally-not-deacon]

~*~WIP Wednesday~*~

Tagged by... myself. But for once I have writing to share - so Imma post before I promptly forget. Again.

Got in in my head to throw Mar into Turbo Hell (read: Vigilant-based fic), but I guess things gotta start relatively normal before I ruin her life. :)

No content warnings... This time. It will not remain that way.

“Three hundred gold? That’s it? Well-rewarded my ass!” she barked the moment the doors to the Jarl’s longhouse swung shut. The nuisance giant they’d been sent after lay in a pool of its own blood, stark against the ice just south of town. All in a day’s work. But this? They trekked all the way out to, “godsdamned Dawnstar for this? I should feed that steward his own tee–”

“Bail’s coming out of your drinking money, not mine,” said Nebarra. Marasa glared over her shoulder at him, retort ready to fire back when she took pause. By now they’d attracted the attention of more than a few guards, and jail wasn’t exactly a place she was fond of finding herself in. Again. Fine then, he could pay for the carriage fee out of this dump. She stomped ahead with a huff.

They knocked the snow from their boots before stepping into the inn. The scant few hours of sunlight winter afforded were waning, and a stiff wind was picking up off the Sea of Ghosts, meaning it was the perfect time to settle in and spend the pocket change they’d received. That had to be the only reason anyone lived out here – the Jarl paid so little no one could afford to leave! At least they’d taken care of that whole daedric nightmare fiasco last year, so hopefully they could get a decent night’s sleep before huddling for warmth in the back of an uncovered wagon for the next gods knew how long.

Marasa tugged her helmet off as she approached the bar, stray hair pulling free of the loose bun underneath. It felt as if they’d seen every bed of every inn Skyrim had more than their own. Dawnstar, unfortunately, was no exception. They were practically on a first name basis with half the city guard, and it had absolutely nothing to do with the three days she spent driving them mad in lockup after someone wasn’t watching his coinpurse back in Riften and couldn’t bail her out. Yes, it was her that broke that guy’s nose – did you hear what he said about my ears? And yes, it was her that sent a chair flying through the inn’s only window. But still! She’d have been out in a few hours after he’d gotten a change to sell some of their loot, but of course that was when the general shop owner decided to take a damned fishing trip. Doesn’t she just have the best of luck? It wasn’t so bad, though. The whole Dragonborn thing turned out to be pretty useful when it came to weaseling into some special treatment, she had to admit. Honestly, by the time he’d returned with the money, she was fairly sure the guards would’ve paid him to get her out of their hair.

She wasn’t allowed to pick fights at the inn now. Milk drinkers.

She met Nebarra back at their usual table, dropping down next to him with a tired grunt. At least the bard wasn’t singing tonight. “How long’s it been since we killed a dragon?” she asked. Marasa flicked her bottle’s cork between her fingers before rolling it across the table, too slow to catch it before it dropped over the opposite edge and out of sight. Oops.

Nebarra paused feeding a reed into his helm, ridiculous as it always was. She rolled her eyes. “A month, maybe two. Wouldn’t it be easier for you to keep track of that?” Had it really been that long? Sure, there was a finite amount of them, she knew that, but it had only been what, three years since taking down Alduin? Must’ve thinned the herd more than she thought. “Remind me – why are we still in the province?”

“Because these Jarls make the East Empire look like a charity with how tight they hold their purse strings,” she mumbled with a petulant pout. Some thanks she gets for saving the world.

“And you dri–”

“And we drink it all away.” Marasa looked pointedly at his rapidly draining bottle, ignoring the fact that her own was in much the same state. She sighed, picking at a splintered bit of tabletop. “Where would we even go, though? High Rock’s not so bad, I guess. Still, can’t stand the all the politics.”

[dyrewrites]

Find the Word Tag!

Thank you, @apolline-lucy, who's is here.

Rules: Open up your WiP! Find these words! Share a line, or a few, or a whole snip there are no real rules.

I am tagging @aziz-reads, @illarian-rambling and YOU--you lovely person reading this, you.

Your words are: Care, Save, Flee and Ice

--

My words are: wound, struck, guilt, shine (I feel you may know too much...are, are these just for me?)

->and below the cut so as not to be a big scroll-y mess<-

wound

All the heat he built died in that bite—a bite that never healed, that would serve as my reminder of who owned me for all my years—and I sought purchase on the headboard with the hunger of it, the shock. Ice those teeth, ice that spread through the wound he broke in me, digging through my veins. And their sharpness had me fearing his gleaming white teeth were growing, branching, racing up my bloodstream like starving roots to steal every sip of my life.

struck

Cave wide, its eyes were lit with man-sized fires but its face bore a delicate, oval sweetness with a serene smile on lips that looked far too human. Yet it was no man, no flesh and blood creature either. It was rock and sea and fire. Ocean water poured from its head as it rose higher, as waterfalls of hair it was, glistening in the moonlight and the peculiar orange flames of its eyes. Higher it rose, allowing the sight of a slender neck and what struck me as islands on their own on either side until it tilted that impossible head and those islands shrugged ever so slightly.

I don't know how I managed 90k words into this thing without a single one being 'guilt', but here we are.

shine(d)

“But I ruined our moment,” he sniffled and tried to wiggle away, to escape. I held him tighter, “You ruined nothing,” more kisses to his shoulders, his neck, distracting so he wouldn’t try to run again, “you were perfect, as you always are,” Turning him around to face me, to show that my eyes shined just as wet, I added, “and you’re not the only one with tears.” That earned a smile and he wriggled a hand between us to wipe my tears, “So beautiful you are, treasure.” “You like when I cry?” I asked through a laugh. Narrowing his eyes, he bit his smile and tried to play coy, “Perhaps...a little.”

[roselinbooks]

WIP Food Tag

Tagged by @willtheweaver, thank you!

Rules: Answer the food related questions provided here using the voice of your OCs. The yummier the descriptions, the better!

I have been thinking about the kinds of foods eaten by cultures in the Stellar Eclipse series more lately, specifically since some of the cultures in that world have diets that are fully plant-based or don't use fire for cooking, beyond my previously limited ideas around raw meals. Going to try to develop that more here but take it with a grain of salt, pun intended!

What is one comfort food that'll change your whole mood for the day?

Eureka: Authentic sun-dried trout and herbs is something that I haven't had in a long time...I've tried to replicate it at home but it isn't quite the same. It always comes out a little saltier here, probably because we live so close to the ocean. As much as I'd like to taste it again, I'm not sure how I would feel if I was completely successful. As-is, it reminds me of my childhood and happy memories from my village and foster parents.

What is an experience, good or bad, that has turned you off or on to a food completely?

Baltan: I can't stand anything that's gummy or chewy since my last extended stay in a hospital.

If you could eliminate one piece of produce, meat, dairy, or sweets off the earth, what would it be?

Baltan: I understand why gelatin is useful in a hospital, but fuck gelatin.

Lleuwellyn: Soft drinks, just to see what Baltan would do.

Azzie: (after struggling for some time to remember the word not for pickles, but the thing that makes pickles taste Like That) Vinegar.

Eureka: Nothing! There are no bad ingredients, only bad cooks. But if I absolutely had to...probably potatoes.

Dessert is normally saved for last, but if you could, what would you order for your entree at a restaurant?

Lleuwellyn: A fruit tart would be fine, wouldn't it? That's healthy enough.

Baltan: If Eureka bakes it, I'll eat it for any meal. His chocolate cake is my favorite.

Azzie: Iced fruit cream!

Eureka: If you're craving sweets, I'm sure I could make a dinner that is sweet. There are plenty of cuts of meat that pair well with sweeter seasonings. Pork, white fish, mince...served with a fruit salad or chutney... (starts muttering recipe ideas)

What are some food fusions that should never be mixed?

Lleuwellyn: Pickled vegetables and soft drinks. Ask me how I know.

Azzie: (nodding in agreement)

Cooking is a life skill, so why haven't you started learning yet?

Lleuwellyn: I barely remember to eat.

Baltan: Eureka won't let me in the kitchen unless it's for basic things. And he is right for that.

Tagging: @abalonetea @byjillianmaria @indecentpause @theticklishpear @toboldlywrite and open tag!

[triptychgrip]

Twin Blades: a Twin Peaks/Yuri!!! on Ice crossover pitch

Note: I have no plans to write this...I have too many WIPs as it is! This is just a fun brainstorm

Fire, Walk With Me Ice, Skate With Me

The cryptic message, written in blood on a piece of notebook paper, was found attached to reigning World Champion Laura Palmer's Sara Crispino’s skates, just minutes after her leg was broken in a brutal assault 1 day prior to the 1994 World Figure Skating Championships. After Nancy Kerrigan, and then Tanja Szewczenko, Sara was the 3rd Ladies Single skater to be attacked in the span of just 1.5 months, and local law enforcement in Portland, Oregon has decided they need to call in reinforcements.

Luckily, FBI Special Agent Dale Cooper Viktor Nikiforov is on the job, and though he initially set off with a hankering for cherry pie, all thoughts of the dessert have just been wiped from his mind.

As he and his standard poodle Makkachin enter the town perimeter of Twin Blades (population 51K), Agent Nikiforov continues with the message he's been recording on his tape recorder.

"Diane Yakov, lunch was 9 dollars and 31 cents at the Yu-topia Inn, it's on highway 2 at Lewis Fork. That was a pork cutlet bowl -- called Kat-su-don -- with a side of daikon radish and miso soup. And, a mini katsudon bowl for Makka! Damn good food. Yakov, if you ever get up this way, that katsudon is worth a stop." (At the memory of how the two of them scarfed down the wonderful meal made by Hiroko-san), Viktor lets a heart-shaped smile take over his face before getting back to business.)

"Ok, I'll be meeting up with Sheriff Truman Katsuki -- you know the one...Yakov, if you don't know who that is by now, then you definitely haven't been listening to my tapes, and we'll need to have a word, because I'm counting on your advice to woo Yuuri! I mean really, I'm still in shock that he actually reached out to me through the Bureau like that, but I'm not about to look a gift horse in the mouth...I'm just relieved that I wasn't the only one that had a life-changing experience at that law enforcement conference in Chicago back in December!

Anyways, the two of us are going to go to intensive care, and look in on that Italian skater -- Sara Crispino -- whose leg was broken in that assault last week."

...

Interrogation Room, Twin Blades Sheriff's Department (two days later)

Yuuri and Viktor exchange shrewd glances at Bobby Briggs' Mickey Crispino's rising volume and visible agitation. Viktor feels a thrill of delight rocket up his spine at the eye contact; only yesterday, Yuuri wasn’t even able to look at him, and now, they’re starting to develop a shared body language, all of their own!

“So what if we we fought? Is that a crime, now, to have a fight with my own sister?” Crispino bellows.

Ugh.

Mickey is a wonderful example of why Viktor despises hockey players.

“Mila's nowhere good enough for her, so of course we butt heads from time to time…it's natural for me to get protective over her!” Mickey continues, spit flying every which way. “Maybe I get too bent out of shape when it comes to their relationship, but your insinuation that my jealousy would lead me to attack Sara right before her attempt to defend her title…?! Its’s beyond insulting!”

Viktor is just about to ask a follow-up (and wipe his face), when Deputy Sheriff Andy Guang-Hong knocks on the door. The poor guy's eyes are still very red-rimmed, and once again, Viktor is reminded of how rare violent assaults like Sara’s are in Twin Blades. As he'd explained earlier on the phone to his colleague, forensic analyst Albert Rosenfield Seung-Gil Lee, the town is tiny.

There are really only two lodging options (Yu-topia Inn and the Great Northern Hotel), 1 entertainment venue (The Roadhouse Ice Castle), and 1 food establishment (the Double R Diner) the Double J Diner, run by the Leroys). Industry is the opposite of varied; the town runs on all things winter sports, hockey and figure skating, primarily.

Yuuri's background info on the potential sale of the Packard Sawmill Ice Castle to a visiting delegation of Norwegian Japanese businessmen only lends another layer of mystery to the serial skater attack spree. In addition to why cocaine was found in Sara's diary -- when everyone swears she would never jeopardize a competition disqualification by way of drug use -- and the undoubtable supernatural presence in the woods that only Minako Okukawa truly seems able to grasp, Viktor is well aware that he has his work cut out for him...both on the romance front and work front.

-----

Twin Peaks is one of my favorite shows, and b/c I now tend to see Viktuuri in everthing I consume, when I started rewatching season 1 a few weeks back, I couldn't help but start to brainstorm around a possible crossover/AU. If you've watched the show, I'm sure you're well aware that it is very dark, so the figure skating element/YOI ensemble shenanigans would definitely lighten things up (no incest, drug or prostitution rings, only bloodthirsty athletic rivalries, shady business dealings and jaded love).

Here are some other things that came to mind:

-Yuuko as the sole owner of Ice Castle, and loosely based on femme fatale Josie Packard. Since Yuuri is not a skater in this AU, she instead puts all of her energy into encouraging Mila to gain the attention of her skating idol (and eventual girlfriend, Sara)...but is her encouragement truly selfless, or is she a much shrewder business owner than Twin Blades' townspeople give her credit for? And was she involved in the murder of her late husband, Takeshi, as Agent Nikiforov comes to suspect?

-Minako as a slightly less eccentric Lawrence Jacoby. Minako was the first person that Sara confided in when she fell in love with Mila, and it was through Minako that Sara found the courage to be open about her relationship with the rest of her family. Minako is one of the few in Twin Blades that is knowledgeable about the supernatural presences in the forest, and many suspect that her youthful appearance is connected to this

-the Nishigori triplets having the combined mischievousness and cunning of Audrey Horne (Minus the blatant flirting with Agent Cooper Nikiforov, b/c that would be weird). Georgi as the Log Lady Gentleman, lmao. Poor guy...no one can take him seriously

As I note in the title, I probably won't actually write this, but if anyone else is a Peaks fan, please let me know! It's such a bizarre and wonderful world that I love to think about :)

[bitletsanddrabbles]

WIP Wednesday: Alex Support Version

Since @alex51324 has been dealing with Obnoxious Crap (TM), I've tried to turn my attention back toward the Island for a bit. I got a bit further on the piece I wanted to work on...then this ambushed me.

It's ironic. When I started "An Armada to Sail On" the last person I thought would have a chapter was...

...okay, Syl, who still doesn't have a chapter. But he was pretty much tied with Gordon. Now, not only does Gordon have a chapter, but of all the chapters my brain has decided to occasionally go 'Hey, you know, we could expand on that' with, it's that one. Go figure.

And so we have the first Island Sandbox bitlet that officially ties in with another piece. It's also the first thing I hand wrote, then typed up. Roughly three days, four and a half pages handwritten, 832 words typed. I'm still counting it as a rough draft because I'm not certain about the ending. I'd planned on making it longer, but this seemed a punchier place to stop...if it's clear what happens immediately after the last line. If not, I can spell it out a bit more. And of course, I've not language checked the characters against the original yet.

Anyway, here is a Thing! Hopefully it gets a chuckle.

-

“Speaking of ‘stepping out’,” Eddy said, his eyes sliding Thomas’s direction. It was Saturday night and the RAMC boys had been gossiping about Theo and one of the newer blokes. “You’ve been spending an awful lot of your free time with Gordon lately. If you aren’t careful, he’ll scare off all of your suitors and you really will die an old maid!”

“Old bachelor, you mean,” Dave scoffed from Eddy’s other side. On the far side of Dave, Rouse rather pointedly focused his attention on his beer. “Or have you decided you don’t care ‘cause no one here’s good enough for our ice prince?”

Peter, sitting on Thomas’s left, frowned. “That was uncalled for.”

“And rather pointless,” Thomas agreed before calmly taking a drink. “After all, I’m already taken.”

Surprise erupted like machine gun fire from the entire group, except for Rouse. “By whom?” Eddy demanded.

Thomas looked at him as if he’d just asked where his own shoes were. “Gordon, who else?”

“What, really?” The other man frowned and squinted at him, clearly trying to figure out if he was taking the piss or not.

“Of course, really,” Thomas scoffed. “You just said you’d noticed.”

“I’d noticed you were spending time together, yeah, but not that you were…you know…” Eddy continued to squint at him a moment, then turned to Rouse. “Oi, Frank! Did you know about this?”

“Of course he did,” Thomas replied, saving the doctor the effort of reminding them all about patient confidentiality. “Gordon and I talked to him about it first thing.”

“Willingly,” Rouse confirmed. “I still can’t believe that part.”

Thomas shrugged and took a drink. “We wanted you to know what was going on, in case rumors started flying around.”

“Fair enough, I suppose.”

“But why him?” Dave demanded, the picture of indignation. His name was on the list of suitors Thomas hadn’t realized he’d had until after the fact. “What does he have that the rest of us don’t, besides a fucking mouth?”

“Yeah, that’s one thing you definitely don’t have, Dave,” Rouse muttered, just loud enough for the whole bar to hear. It earned him a couple of chuckles.

Thomas thought a moment, then shrugged. “None of your business?”

“Not saying a fucking thing against the lad,” Tully chimed in, topping off Thomas’s glass and giving him a carefully measured look, “but it does seem a curious choice.”

Well, if Tully was going to nose in, he supposed he’d better answer, at least if he wanted to keep getting free drinks on Saturday. “If you must know, he figured out the one thing I’d been waiting for someone to do and did it.” Thomas paused for a reaction and to take a drink.

“Namely?” Tully asked once he’d put his glass down.

“He asked,” Thomas informed him in the driest tone he could muster. “In plain English.”

“That’s it?” Eddy gawped at him as if he’d just claimed he was going to fly to the moon.

“But,” Peter protested, gently as always, genuinely perplexed, “other people did that too.”

“To right they did!” Dave scowled. “I know I did!”

“No you didn’t,” Thomas snorted, giving him a dismissive look. “You asked me to the pub and to watch the dart’s tournament. Next thing I knew, it was all over the island that I’d thrown you over for Nigel because I went to the concert with him.” Of course, Thomas hadn’t taken his rumored relationship with Nigel seriously until he’d suddenly cocked that one up too.

“Of course it was!” Dave blustered. “Why wouldn’t you have gone to the concert with me?”

“You don’t even fucking like the concerts, Dave,” Tully reminded him. The looks he was giving Thomas had gone from stern to speculative. “You never go.”

Thomas cheerfully picked up the thread. “And plenty of men who aren’t stepping out have gone to the pub together. Really, if father Tim asks me to come to the pub and I say yes, are you going to accuse our vicar of infidelity?”

“It’s not the same.” Dave insisted.

Thomas rolled his eyes. “If you were that interested, the least you could have done was offered to walk me home from church instead of expecting me to read your mind and know that ‘let’s go to the pub’ meant something more than ‘let’s get a bite’!”

“Richard did that,” Peter pointed out, almost apologetically.

“Yeah, my first week here when nothing felt real yet!”

Peter gave a little grimace and shrug, conceding the point.

Dave harumphed. “Yeah, well, you’ve been here years now. Would’ve thought you’d’ve caught on to how these things are done by now.”

Thomas gave the other man his nastiest smile. “Well, I haven’t.”

Eddy, who was looking between Thomas on his left and Dave on his right like he was watching a tennis match, apparently decided it was in his best interest to play peace keeper. “So, what? Gordon just asked ‘Oi, Thomas, do you want to step out’?”

Thomas watched Dave lift his glass to his lips, waiting for him to take a healthy swig before replying. “Actually, he asked me to marry him.”

[aristocratic-otter]

Top 10 vs. Personal Top 10

Thank you for the tags, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe and @facewithoutheart. This is bound to be fun and difficult. How do you choose between your children? Well, I'm going to try.

AO3's Top Ten

Oh, Have You Seen The Fairies Dance

Back To Start

Playing With Fire, Treading Thin Ice

A Fucked-Up Cinderella Story

A Real Doll

A Tale of Two Tails

Careful What You Wish For

The Watford Games

Gates of Ivory and Horn

More Than This

Some of these are high scored because they're older, and some because they were just popular in comparison. There's a lot of overlap between this list and my favorites, but there are some differences.

One thing I notice is that the fics that were 'gift fics' where they were written to a specific prompt, or Carry on Reverse Bang fics, written to art that was made before the fic, didn't make my top ten, probably because it feels like the creativity that built them wasn't wholly mine. I still love those fics, but just not quite as much.

Also, other than Raising Dragons, I didn't include WIPs, though they may become favorites when they are done. I'm especially fond of Saving Simon Snow, my forced marriage fic, which I think is getting close to finished. I'll probably start posting that one by April!

And the experience of writing was a huge factor in my choices below. Getting to collaborate with lovely people, or finding myself as a writer features in all or most of my favorites.

Here is my list of faves:

A Fucked-Up Cinderella Story. Ok, the butt plug joke is my favorite joke of anything I've written, Ok? Not to mention, this is the Erotic Gropefest collaboration where I first met and worked with my dear friend Fristi and learned what a joy it is to collaborate with a brilliant artist.

Back To Start: I've called this fic my baby, and it is. It's the first fic I wrote where I really felt like a competent writer, and you don't forget that feeling. I used a whole lot of my life experience in writing Baz as a baby and child too, so it's especially dear to me.

Careful What You Wish For: This was my second collaboration, and @ivelovedhimthroughworse Apricot is the sweetest, most supportive partner anyone could ask for. And this fic is my favorite type to read: angsty, science-y, plot heavy with loving smut.

The Watford Games: This was the first plot driven fic I ever wrote, and I'm proud of what I accomplished with it. And it's also another type of fic I love to read: AUs that put Simon and Baz in place of well-known characters.

The Blue and The Gray: Written for COTTA, this fic didn't make the AO3 top ten, and I think that's because the American Civil War is probably of lesser interest to non-Americans. But I love it, and I think it was the first fic that made me feel like a writer. You don't forget that.

Raising Dragons: Even though this is unfinished, I've had so much fun writing pregnancy and childhood shenanigans in the SnowBaz universe. Not to mention getting to work with Fristi again!

A Real Doll was from the Monster Under the Bed fest, my first non-COTTA fest. This is the first smut fic I ever wrote solely for the purpose of smut, and I think it turned out pretty decent! (Also was the first fic that got a comment from Aralias, which meant a lot to me).

New Year, New Me: This one again didn't make the AO3 top ten, most likely because of the mpreg tag. But it is the exception to the 'gift fic curse', because again, I got to put so much of myself into it. The song @moodandmist and @cutestkilla wrote for it helps elevate this one for me too!

Double Your Pleasure, Double Your Fun: I'll be honest here. I'll read PWP for the usual reasons, but it's always been one of my least favorite categories. I like plot in my fics. But this idea of Baz and Simon having a foursome with their own clones came to me and wouldn't let me go. And the fact that I got to work with Ashton, @artsyunderstudy? That is absolutely the reason this makes my top ten.

The White Chapel: This one is very new and will likely score higher as I get some distance from it. But as an adaptation of my all time favorite movie, Xanadu, it was a pleasure to write from start to finish (and it's also an exception from the gift fic curse, I'm now realizing--but it wasn't written to a prompt and I think that makes the difference).

Probably everyone has done this, so I tag all the folks mentioned above, plus a few others, just in case. @carryonsimoncarryonbaz, @annabellelux, @krisrix, @nightimedreamersghost, @otherworldsivelivedin, @prettylightsbigcity, and @whatevertheweather, I'd love to know what your top tens are!

[hbxplain]

Find the Words Tag Game

i was tagged by @blind-the-winds (hi btw!! thanks for including me ^.^) to find a certain set of words in my wip(s)!

i'm tagging @aquil-writes, @scribe-of-stories, and @sunset-a-story - as well as anyone else who's interested! your words are display, horror, respect, kind, and help.

my words are holiday, spice, warm, ice, and love. so, here we go!

i could not find "holiday" or "spice" anywhere in seven lovely sins or in any of my ileao AUs, which is honestly kind of impressive. i had plenty of the other three though, so here they are!

Warm

“Well, to a certain limited degree, I suppose that’s fine,” Alex says with a warm smile. He gently transitions into a typical icebreaker that doesn’t sound nearly as stale and insincere as it should, and Ileao finds emself melting into the conversation with surprising ease.

When the waiter reappears, Alex quietly asks Ileao to be civil, but when ey aren’t, he doesn’t scold em for it. He just laughs quietly behind his hand, and then pretends to the waiter that he was doing no such thing. He does apologize to the man for Ileao’s behavior, but, hey, somebody has to. And it isn’t gonna be Ileao!

All in all, Alex is cool. He’s fun to be around, competent and kind but without pulling any punches, and Ileao is ashamed to say that ey totally forget to poison him.

Ice

“Turn the shower off, I’m gonna lay a towel out and move her onto it,” Tigh says. He takes one of the towels she bought recently out of the cupboard beneath the sink—lucky guess, or did Tu keep hers there, too?—and lays it out flat in front of the shower before careful picking Vatana up, curled up as she is, and setting her down on the towel. She hears the shower being turned off behind her, and another towel is wrapped gently around her shoulders.

“Try the ice cube trick,” Vice says from where she’s watching the whole thing from the doorway, and Tu nods and darts out of the room, presumably to fetch some ice.

“Can you tell me your name?” Tigh asks slowly, looking right into Vatana’s eyes. It feels like he’s miles away, and yet her vision tunnels on him. She doesn’t react. “That’s okay,” he says with a patient smile. It reminds her of the way she used to speak to Arana when she was scared. That thought only pulls her further down.

Tu re-enters the bathroom with a couple of ice cubes. She places one in Vatana’s left hand and then gently curls her fingers around it to keep it in place, and Vatana shivers suddenly from the shock of it.

Love

She scrolls through the news on her phone. There’s an article about a small section of a park becoming a protected landmark due to the fact that a popular magic user whose magic manifested as forced silencing had stopped a voice-based villain in that very park years earlier. Another article boasts how a famous magic family has moved to Clemen City so their son can get the best magic tutoring available. One more article about how a small village nearby was pleased to welcome a fire-based magic expert for a short visit before he continued his travels.

How can a world with so few magic users be so focused on magic? How can they favor magic over everything else when so few of them can actually do magic?

Tu loves her magic. Tu loves herself. But sometimes, just sometimes, she isn’t proud of either one.

[cregan-starks]

9, 20, 24, 25, 32

have a good morning, luv ❣

Hello, my love! 💜Good morning to you, too, and tysm for asking! 💐

9. Do you believe in ghosts? This isn’t about writing I just wanna know. No, I don't believe in ghosts lmao.

20. If a witch offered you the choice between eternal happiness with your one true love and the ability to finally finish, perfect, and publish your dearest, darlingest, most precious WIP in exactly the way you've always imagined it — which would you choose? You can’t have both sorry, life’s a bitch. I'm choosing to publish my WIPs, 'cause I believe neither in eternal happiness, nor in the concept of one true love. Keeping it realistic. Life has both ups and downs, and we gotta live.

24. How much prep work do you put into your stories? What does that look like for you? Do you enjoy this part or do you just want to get on with it? I do tons of research, and a lot of preparation goes into my work. First and foremost, I must be familiar with the source material (watch the show/movie, read the book, etc.), as I consider my work to be a love letter to canon, and I want it to be as close to canon as possible. For Beholden, I watched Narcos: Mexico a dozen times, and researched the War on Drugs, as well as Mexico's history, culture, and geopolitics. Reveries was the easiest, 'cause I just had to rewatch Stranger Things. For Flames of Deceit, I read Fire & Blood twice, read A World of Ice and Fire, read The Rise of the Dragon, and watched House of the Dragon several times. I enjoy researching and prep work immensely.

25. What is a weird, hyper-specific detail you know about one of your characters that is completely irrelevant to the story? Magnussen hates the way toenails smell. Visenya can recognize and distinguish the sound of her family's footsteps (her parents, all of her siblings, Aegon, Aemond, Helaena, Daeron. Viserys, Alicent, Laenor, Laena, and Harwin are honorable mentions.)

32. What is a line from a poem/novel/fanfic etc. that you return to from time and time again? How did you find it? What does it mean to you? My mind went instantly blank lmao. I should start writing shit down. I've always loved Tolkien's "Not all those who wander are lost." It speaks to me on a deep, personal level. It's incredibly validating, as if he put into words something that I feel, that I couldn't express myself. Another Tolkien quote I like is "All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us", because it's so true, and it serves as a valuable reminder to all of us. I also love George R.R. Martin's “What is honor compared to a woman’s love? What is duty against the feel of a newborn son in your arms… or the memory of a brother’s smile? Wind and words. Wind and words. We are only human, and the gods have fashioned us for love. That is our great glory, and our great tragedy.” This one speaks for itself, I think. Love is a double-edged sword, but we can't deny its power.

weird asks

[bardic-tales]

The Promise

Word count: 479 Wip: Cold as Ice Warning: Agnst. Blood. Death. Premise: Crown Prince Vaene Ectorius Arturis relives his greatest failure. Tagging: @asomeoneperson @jessica-writes22 @athenswrites @elijahrichardwrites @whimsyqueen @arrthurpendragon @writersmonth

If you would like to be on my tag list for notifications on any drabbles or short stories I might post to my Tumblr, check out this post here. If you wish to be taken off this taglist, feel free to tell me!

1.

The fire danced upon the log within the fireplace. Shadows danced behind Vaene Arturis, reminding him of a time when he shared this room with his beloved. He frowned.

“Forgive me, Ambrosia.” Vaene lifted his head and looked up at the painting above the mantel. The blonde woman’s hair trailed over her porcelain-like face. “I’ve never meant to harbor affection for our stewardess.”

She didn’t answer. He found himself staring into her eternal smile, the expression a stark contrast from the last time he saw her. Then, her blood rushed from the widened wound to her neck, spreading from her and encircling her head like a ghastly, crimson halo.

He clenched his hand around the stem of the wineglass before he let out a long, painful sigh and closed his eyes. The memory wouldn’t leave him. As the years stretched from her and their son’s murder, the edges frayed like the upholstery within the wing where they meant their final moments.

That wasn’t the only ghost from his past that haunted him. When he wedded Ambrosia, he had made a solemn promise to her. He would love her until his dying breath and none would dwell within his heart except her.

That all changed from the moment he spied the stewardess’ golden hair among the other patrons, bringing back the memory of his deceased wife. Cyras was a breath of fresh air among the court. Within moments of meeting, she had insisted that they visit the dregs and witness society waste and debris for themselves. No one cared for the peasants living on the outskirts of the city, not him, not the other nobility, and, most certainly, not his father.

She had quickly become the pulse that revived his cold heart. Since Ambrosia, Cyras’s mere presence encouraged him to become a better man. He wanted to become true to her, to leave his womanizing reputation behind. Most of all, he wanted to know her and become the man worthy of her attention.

His chest tightened. Each time he spent with Cyras, the more he betrayed the memory of his wife. When she smiled, he would smile in return. When she stood stoic and barely moving, he fought the urge to draw her into his arms and comfort her.

The last time he felt anything like that was when he drew his bloodied family within his arms. Ambrosia had felt cold then, and a part of him died with them. Vaene didn’t deserve any happiness as he failed them that night. He deserved the loveless relationships he had since them. Vaene, most assuredly, didn’t deserve Cyras.

Vaene opened his eyes, trying to push the guilt down within him, and think of anything else. There was only one thought bubbling to the surface, the stark realization that made itself known with each agonizing moment. He had broken his promise to Ambrosia.