#wrote a little ficlet at the end whoops

[perpetualexistence]

Sea Monster AU: First Meetings

I'm still getting a heehoo giddy feeling with all the interest for this AU! I haven't even properly written things yet and you're all being very welcoming! I'm seeing likes from people I've been following in the TD fandom! I got my first reblog from someone else who understands the joys of big monsters and monster x human tropes! Aaa! It sparks joy in me.

I promise to use this joy exclusively to give Noah a Bad Time. He's one of my favorites, so he must suffer. That's the rules. (Don't worry, Alejandro will get to suffer too, we just haven't gotten that far yet.)

I'm going to start with how the two meet and their relationship up until Alejandro decides to reveal his true colors. So no real content warnings for this part except for manipulation and intimidation, especially regarding size. Given the premise, and the fact that Alejandro is Alejandro, this is going to be true of most of this AU.

Now let's see if I can properly use the Read More button to get into the juicy deets.

<- Start/Prev | Next ->

Noah lives in a small town on the coast of Lake Wawanawka. In days long past the town was a major shipping port. It was fighting with a rival city for dominance in the region. A massive storm set the town back, and now it only exists as a place to stay that's cheaper than the big city up the coast. The town government has been trying to revitalize the town by turning it into a tourist trap, but that's only resulted in tourists trashing the place at night while they spend most of their time and money in the big city. Still, money is money, so the townspeople have little choice but to put up with it.

Noah's recently been accepted to the one community college in town that's kind of helping to keep the town afloat. He plans to coast through an associate's degree with ridiculously easy classes. Then he's going to use his intelligence to get a scholarship to a private university and will never look back on this town. Only exception would be to come visit his family, though at this point only a few of his older sisters still live at home. Some have already left the nest just like he plans to.

Noah doesn't have many friends, so he tends to go off on his own. He's managed to find one spot on the beach that's inaccessible to most. It requires a tight squeeze through rocks. It's the one thing his wiry frame is good for. Tourists don't know about it so they can't ruin it. Townspeople who do know about it typically don't bother. He's taken measures to make it look as unappealing as possible. Can't have people taking away his best spot to get away from a rowdy house and read in peace.

That is, until a particularly bad storm hits. He returns to his reading cove, ready to complain as he has to either deal with or ignore the debris that's sure to be littering the place. It's while he's kicking away debris that his foot comes across something soft, small, and....tan? He moves the debris away to see something that would look like an eel if not for the top half being a human that looked around his age.

He reacts calmly when this thing groans and looks directly at him asking "¿Qué pasó?" He takes a second to breathe, and think rationally about what he's seeing in front of him.

He certainly doesn't scream like a bitch, fall on his ass, and attempt to crab walk away.

Once Noah actually calms down and accept the fact that this is not a psychotic break on his part, he and who he learns is Alejandro get to talking. Fortunately in English. Alejandro reveals that he swam too close to the surface and got swept in the storm. He doesn't know where he's ended up. He took a really nasty blow to the head too because he doesn't even quite remember where he came from. Alejandro would greatly appreciate if Noah could tell him where he is.

Noah's got some questions about all this. Ignoring the fact that merfolk apparently exist (a phrase he never thought he'd utter), Alejandro's an eel. Literally. Eels aren't native to Canada. So there's no possible way he could be from Lake Wawanakwa. Noah suspects he's an electric eel, which would place him somewhere in South America. When he points this out, he swears he sees a spark of electricity in Alejandro's tail. It confirms Noah's suspicions. It also confirms that Noah's not about to touch Alejandro with his bare hands. Alejandro commends him for being smart enough to help jog his memory. He remembers humans referring to the name 'Peru' in the waters he comes from.

He reveals that magic does exist in this world, as is evident by his very existence. There must have been magic in the storm that brought him here. Sadly, he doesn't know how he can use it to get himself back home. Not that it matters much, he can adapt to living here. Still, he begs for Noah not to tell anyone else that he's here. Noah has been so kind to him, but Alejandro isn't quite so sure how other humans will react to seeing him.

Noah's still quite suspicious about Alejandro. But the alternative is either A) a townsperson finds Alejandro, sees him as their ticket out of this town, and does who knows what to him for fame and money. Or B) a tourist finds Alejandro, and either does like the townsperson, or flips out and calls the cops, leading to who knows what kind of military experimentation assuming the cops don't just shoot him on sight.

So curse Noah's bleeding heart, he tells Alejandro that if he's going to stay in shallower waters, he'll be better off staying here. He warns him about the tourists and the townspeople. If he's going into deeper waters, then he's going to have to watch out for the fishermen, the cargo ships, and the ferries that go across the lake. Alejandro just grins and promises to repay Noah's hospitality in full one day.

And thus, Noah begins to meet Alejandro in secret. Mainly because he refuses to concede his favorite reading spot. Noah does some research on electric eels, and comes prepared with rubber gloves any time he wants to get close with Alejandro just in case. Alejandro isn't always there, but when he is he insists on interacting with Noah. He gets interested in the books he sees Noah reading and reveals that he doesn't know how to read. Noah can't just allow for that, so he teaches the Peruvian how to read English. He tries to teach him how to write too, but that's more difficult given the size difference and Alejandro constantly being wet. Noah will take to reading aloud to Alejandro, and when Alejandro learns how to read, he takes to slithering his way in between Noah and his book so he can read along, taking care not to touch Noah's skin.

Their relationship continues to grow as they talk about their respective lives. Noah tells him about humans, and Alejandro will tell him things about merfolk. When Alejandro goes to deeper waters, he comes back and describes the old shipwrecks he's found closer to the bottom of the lake with a certain wonder in his eyes. He'll even start to bring little treasures back from them, first for himself, but eventually for Noah as well. They get to make fun of tourists together and watch them from afar. Noah's dog Ark comes in at one point, and Ark loves Alejandro. Alejandro doesn't feel the same way about Ark and complains about the slobber. At a different point, a stray cat makes its way to the beach and Alejandro learns that he loves cats. And that cats don't feel the same way about him. To them he smells like a fish and looks like a snake, so they'll either try to claw at him or flee on sight. This saddens the Alejandro. He vows to one day successfully pet a cat.

Then, things take a turn seemingly out of the blue. Alejandro reveals that he has a surprise he wants to show Noah. It's a skill he'd lost for a while due to the nature of his arrival. He's been practicing it in private, but he thinks he's finally recovered it fully! He begs for Noah to indulge his theatrics by covering his eyes. It will be the last time he asks like this. He promises. Noah rolls his eyes, but begrudgingly agrees to do so.

Noah hears a lot of shifting. Of rocks. Of waves. He hears something scraping the ground around him. He feels the air around him grow charged. The hair all across his body is standing on its end. He can't help but remember those initial doubts he had about Alejandro.

"You may open them now." a familiar voice rumbles. The accent is as thick as ever. It's louder than a tiny body should be able to produce. It's coming from the wrong direction.

It had been so nice to be wrong. If he keeps his eyes closed, he can keep being wrong. Schrödinger's idyllic beach life. He's smart, and he has a friend with no strings attached. He's smart, and he knows patience is not one of Alejandro's virtues.

Noah opens his eyes to gaze at the massive beast staring down at him.

Were his teeth always so sharp? Alejandro spoke of hunting, which implied he needed teeth sharp enough to rip into flesh. Noah had never really paid attention until he was looking at a full set of teeth, each the size of his hand. They grinned in a facsimile of a warm and inviting smile he was accustomed to.

Noah forced his gaze further upward to check if Alejandro's smile met his eyes. He recognized those eyes. When Alejandro had first started bringing his treasures, he would talk about them nonstop. Noah had tried to grab one of them to get a closer look. Alejandro had immediately retreated to the water, holding onto his treasure as if his own life depended on it. He'd felt an odd sense of something he later recognized as jealousy. Which was strange because it was jealousy over an object. But it was an object that had commanded Alejandro's full attention, full protection, full possession.

What a fool he'd been to feel jealous of something he was now the target of.

"What do you think?" Alejandro asked like a dog that had just brought home a dead cat and was now begging for praise. He closed the distance between them by bending down and slithering back to meet closer to Noah's level.

Noah's throat closed. He felt his face betray him as his ears and cheeks began to flush red. This is fear and a confused and conflated mixture of adrenaline and oxytocin brought forward by an intense situation, nothing more.His feet remained loyal. He backpedaled, only to be stopped by a soft wall that hadn't been there a second ago. He pressed a hand against the wall while maintaining eye contact with Alejandro. That was what you did with wild animals wasn't it? Certain ones at least. He didn't if it would work with eels. An electric eel will wrap itself around its prey, ensuring that there are at least two points of contact for maximum effectiveness. Once established, it will send a shock to incapacitate its prey before consuming it. If he wheels through facts he picked up about eels to prepare himself for this situation, he doesn't have to acknowledge that the wall that dwarfed him from behind was a hand.

"Noah, por favor." Alejandro purred. "We're amigos. I haven't forgotten the times we've spent together. They've been delightful! And so very informative."

Noah had been too concerned about protecting Alejandro from humans. He taught him how to read. He warned him where the people frequented. He taught him how modern ships run on electricity. Alejandro shared that he wished he could have met the ships he'd visited before something else had sent them to the bottom of the lake. All of these red flags only served as the pins and needles holding Noah in place.

"And more importantly, I made a promise to you! A Burromuerto never breaks their promises. Not even to humans." Alejandro suddenly tilted his hand forward, forcing Noah to stumble backwards into a cupped palm. He pulled Noah closer until his face engulfed the entirety of Noah's vision. He let out a breathy sigh right onto Noah. "It truly is a shame that you're a human in my new hunting grounds. I could allow you to simply stay if you weren't. I have no doubt you would enjoy literally ripping apart los estúpidos turistos with me just as you enjoy verbally ripping them apart."

Noah felt an index finger ruffle the top of his hair. On instinct, he moved his hand up to smack it away. His eyes widened as he realized what he'd just done, but Alejandro only chuckled. "See what I mean?" he continued. "But, sadly for both of us, I can't let it be known that I let a human go without a fight. I have a reputation to uphold. However, I will reward your hospitality with something I will never offer to another human again. Porque eres tan precioso para mí."

Alejandro carefully placed a thumb under Noah's chin to keep his gaze focused on the former. His claw rested against Noah's right cheek. The sharp tip faced away from him, but that could change at a moment's notice. "You have the privilege of convincing me why you deserve to live."

And Noah knew he would have to choose his next words very carefully.

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

Sorry, just this little ficlet, and then I'll continue taking my break. I actually got some progress made on my WIP . . . Whoops, I accidentally wrote a little bit of smut. It was supposed to be just an accidental kiss.

18+ MINORS DNI

Eddie and Steve were friends. To them, they were like Steve and Robin, bound by trauma whilst being completely platonic. Oh, how very wrong they were. The realization came to them by complete accident. Eddie and his band finally had a gig that had a crowd a lot bigger than the crowd back in Hawkins. Corroded Coffin was playing at a decently sized bar just outside of Indianapolis. Steve and Robin were the only ones who could get away. Well, Robin had happily invited Vickie along with them, too. The three of them cheered when Eddie walked up to the mic and threw up devil horns in their direction. The horns slowly dropped, however, when he saw what they were wearing. All three of them were wearing homemade Corroded Coffin t-shirts, and they were all bright pink. He scowled at them and began to play.

Steve was thrilled to watch him play. He couldn't be more delighted at the sight of his friend ruling the stage. . .fucking owning the stage is what he was doing. Steve’s heart rate skyrocketed as he watched Eddie's long hair flow backward, exposing his throat as he tilted his head back. Eddie's crop top was drenched with sweat, and droplets ran down his stomach. God, Steve wanted to lick it. Wait. . .what? Before he could question that thought, the show ended, and Eddie was leaving the stage. Steve had to go see him.

"You go, we have to pee," Vickie said, her eyes shining.

Steve scoffed and waved them off. He knew exactly what they were going to do. Steve went into the back, only to find that Eddie wasn't with the rest of the band.

"Yeah, Eddie's in the back office there. He's getting out his excess energy. He was scaring Frankie again," Gareth said.

"I am NOT scared of Eddie, asshole," Frankie muttered.

They hadn't been kidding about Eddie's energy levels. He was practically bouncing off the walls when Steve walked into the room. He threw himself into Steve’s arms and hugged him tightly before pulling back. He was beaming like the sun.

"So, what'd you think?" Eddie asked.

"You were awesome, man! If this is what metal sounds like when you play it, then I could listen to it all of the time," Steve said.

Eddie grabbed his face and pressed a hard, grateful kiss to Steve’s lips. When he felt Steve tense up in surprise, he pulled back, his face red.

"Sorry, I don't know where that came from," Eddie said, and Steve gazed at him for a moment, his mouth open.

"Don't be," Steve quickly. "It was a, uh, nice kiss. Very nice."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Fuck, I liked it too."

And that's how Steve found himself pressed up against the wall of the office, Eddie's mouth against his in a hungry kiss. God, it felt like Eddie was trying to devour him. Maybe he was, and maybe he wanted to be devoured by him. Was that what that feeling was? Yeah, he knew it. It wasn't any different than when he had strong feelings for a girl, but it was different in a way that felt more final, like he didn't want to kiss anyone else ever again. Maybe that's why he chose to ignore it all these many months that they had spent hanging out together.

Steve moaned as Eddie's hands wandered up his shirt. Eddie cupped his pecs, his thumbs brushing over his nipples and working them as he moved his lips to Steve’s neck. Steve cursed. Suddenly, Eddie's hands were back over his shirt again. They gripped the collar of the shirt tightly as Eddie moved back. He tore the shirt cleanly down the middle.

"Pink, really?" Eddie asked, and Steve grinned wickedly. "I knew you did that shirt on purpose. Bad Boy. Don't worry, I have a couple shirts I brought with me. You can wear one of mine."

Eddie's eyes darkened at the thought of Steve wearing his clothes. He slipped the rest of the shirt off of him before tearing off his own shirt. Steve gripped his hips, pushing him backward until Eddie's legs hit the back of the small couch. Eddie sat down, and Steve straddled him. Steve’s hand dove in between Eddie's legs and cupped Eddie's clothed hard on. Eddie moaned and cursed Steve’s name as he pressed his hand further against him.

"Goddamn it! Fuck you, Steve," Eddie cursed again.

"So, you don't want my hand inside of your pants. . .hand pressed against your hard cock. . .hard just for me, huh?" Steve whispered in his ear.

The image of Eddie with his head tossed back, just like he was now, on stage fueled the fire that was burning inside of Steve. His tight pants were constricting him. They almost hurt.

"Yes! Fuck! I want you to touch me!" Eddie exclaimed and whispered.

Steve unbuttoned his own pants before doing the same with Eddie's. He wanted to stroke their dicks at the same time. Once this fire was lit, it seemed difficult to put out. Steve had slipped his hand into Eddie's pants when the door burst open. Robin came in with Vickie. Everyone froze. Robin stared at Steve and Eddie. They stared back at her while Vickie backed away slowly out of the room.

"This is exactly what it looks like," Eddie said, Steve’s hand still down his pants.

"What the hell?! I thought the three of us were all platonic with a capital p!" Robin exclaimed.

"Sorry," Steve said, not looking sorry at all.

"It's alright," Robin said softly. "I'll forgive you since you're being queer and all. Eddie finish getting fucked by my best friend and buys us some drinks. You owe us for scarring my girlfriend."

"I'm not scarred! I think it's great! I just didn't want to see it!" Vickie hollered.

"Bless her, she's delusional," Robin said and backed out of the room.

"Tell Gareth to bring us some shirts!" Eddie hollered.

Steve climbed off Eddie, laughing with them as he collapsed next to him.

"Ugh, she ruined the mood," Steve complained.

"Yeah. . .so, queer, huh?" Eddie asked.

"Well, what we did definitely wasn't straight," Steve said and they laughed.

The door opened and Gareth came in with his eyes shut.

"Robin said that I should close my eyes because there's something scary going on in here. Eddie. . .did you really try and fight Steve? We told you before you can't take him," Gareth said. "Even in a hypothetical fight."

Eddie scowled and crossed his arms while Steve struggled to contain his laughter. He watched with a fond smile as Eddie pouted, his bottom lip jutting out. He had really been buried deep in his denial because how could he have possibly thought that he and Eddie were just friends?

[mamashenanigans]

Hiya! Could you write a fluff piece of Yoichi and AFO (if AFO wasn’t a deranged psychopath) getting up to some twin shenanigans. I leave it up to you what shenanigans they partake in. Thank you!!!!!

Hey Anon!

I’ve felt bad that I haven’t answered you yet! I’m working on finishing the AFO & Yoichi fic that I’ve posted snippets of before I give you a nice little ficlet.

HOWEVER

I thought I’d share some headcanons for this little AU you’ve introduced! I hope you like them! You are more than welcome to Ask again if you have any further ideas or thoughts on it!

(Whoops. I wrote the wrong name for AFO at first. Now it's edited)

+The Twin-Twin Transfusion Syndrome(the term for what happened with AFO absorbing more nutrients than Yoichi and which also means they are identical) never happened. They are born LOOKING identical and a mix between canon AFO and Yoichi. Height probably in-between the two and maybe hair only coming down to their lower ears? AFO still has his red eyes and Yoichi has his green representing the dichotomy of their power.

+AFO named himself Daiki and also named Yoichi just like in canon. Daiki can mean “big” so I thought it would be a great name for AFO to pick out since he still sees himself as the “Big Brother” of the two of them.

+They were still whisked away by water and ended up on a shore, but were found by meta sympathizers that took them to an orphanage that protects meta children. They never had to grow up on the street, but they also developed an interdependent relationship. They grew up in the orphanage until coming of age. I think some twin shenanigans would happen when living in the orphanage. Maybe the orphanage also sent them to school?

+If sent to school as teenagers maybe, just maybe, they encounter Kudo and Bruce?

+This is a headcanon in the fic I’ll be posting: Their Quirks work together. Daiki(AFO) is able to take Quirks with his right hand and Yoichi can give Quirks with his left. They are able to transfer Quirks between each other by holding hands and combining the holes(Yoichi’s right hand; Daiki(AFO)’s left hand) in their palms.

+Their personalities are still relatively similar to their canon counterparts, but dampened(mostly AFO) by not having to grow up on the streets and never finding the comic books as morally ignorant children. Maybe they found the comics later and still enjoy them together, but Daiki(AFO) never became the monster he is in canon.

+Yoichi is the submissive twin. Daiki controls the majority of what they do. But, in actuality, (just like canon) it’s Daiki that needs Yoichi more than Yoichi needs Daiki. He’s actually really weird about any sort of separation between them. He’s obsessed with them being “two bodies, two minds, one soul” ala ‘Dead Ringers’. This dude is creepy, but Yoichi has nothing to go off of.

That’s what I have right now. I probably have more if people ASK. I’ll get to the ficlet when I can. Thank you SO much anon for a great headcanon work!

[brbsoulnomming]

Trail Magic - Steddie ficlet

Thank you for the tag @hbyrde36 - this was so much fun! (I also wrote this instead of my wips, whoops.)

Its rules as follows:

1- generate 5 random words using this generator and then write something using those words!

2- tag 5 (or however many you want) mutuals to challenge!

(If you don’t like the five words you got, reroll them. This is meant to be a fun little challenge, not something to stress over. Have fun!)

My words were:

Hear, unbutton, magic, rehydrate, recreation

This is rated Mature for some spice at the end!

It's Friday night, and Eddie's with Steve and Robin, sprawled out on Steve's bed with the window open by his head so the last curls of smoke from the joint he'd just finished will disappear out into the night. Steve's on the floor, lying on his back and tossing a baseball up towards the ceiling, catching it and repeating in an endless loop. Robin's at the foot of the bed, stretched out on her stomach and flipping through some kind of outdoorsy catalog.

Every so often, he can hear Robin muttering to herself, though he can't make out the words. It's nice, makes him want to close his eyes and listen to her voice, to the echo of the baseball thudding into Steve's hand.

"Your parents still leaving on Sunday, Robs?" Steve asks.

Robin hums an affirmative. "Finally accepted I'm not going with them."

The sound of the baseball stops, and Eddie opens his eyes to peer at them both.

"You still could," Steve says softly. "I know you missed last year."

Robin rolls her eyes. "What did I tell you about taking responsibility for that?"

Steve makes a face at her. "Yeah, yeah," he mutters, looking away.

In response, Robin sits up and scoots forward so she can kick at his hip with her toes, which - yeah, actually, that's a fantastic idea. Eddie joins her, until Steve is forced to stop hiding so he can slap his hands at their feet.

"What are we scolding him for taking responsibility for?" Eddie asks her.

"My parents are pretty avid thru hikers," Robin says. "Or they used to be - that's how they met, actually. We've been doing section hiking every summer since I was old enough to go with them. Except, you know, last summer." She mimes an explosion with her hands. "But I'd already decided not to go."

"Because you wanted to make money," Steve points out. "You could have still joined after we lost our jobs!"

Eddie kicks his hip again. "You mean the jobs you lost because the Upside Down ate the mall? You really wanted her to ditch you with broken ribs?"

"No, of course not. It just sucks that she had to stay."

Eddie looks over, exchanging a glance with Robin. She raises one eyebrow at him - he's your boyfriend - and he raises both of his back at her - he's your platonic soulmate.

"I can hear you both," Steve informs them.

Robin slides off the bed, laying down next to him with her head on his shoulder. "There is no world where I wouldn't rather be with you," she tells him. "No matter what."

"But they're your parents," he says. "They love you. They want you with them."

"And I love them," she replies. "Still choosing you."

There's silence for a bit. Eddie knows better than to interrupt it, no matter how much he wants to reassure Steve, too - he knows this isn't about him, not right now.

"Okay," Steve says after a while.

"Good," Robin says. "Besides, next year we're both going, Upside Down or no Upside Down."

"Okay," Steve says again, and this time he sounds more enthused. "Let's do trail magic this year."

"Trail magic?" Eddie asks, hoping he's reading them right and it's time for him to jump back in.

Sure enough, Steve turns to him and makes a come here motion, frowning at him like he's mortally offended that Eddie isn't on the ground with them. Eddie huffs out a little laugh, and slides off the bed to sprawl out on Steve's other side, pillowing his head on Steve's stomach.

"Trail magic," Robin confirms as Steve threads his hand into Eddie's hair. "It's a lot of things, really, but what Steve means is lending a helping hand to any thru hikers out there. We'll bring in snacks and water and stuff for anyone we run into. Last year Steve made fried chicken and monster cookies and they were a hit."

Her eyes light up a little, and she nudges Eddie. "You should come with us!"

Steve lights up even more. "Yeah, it'll be fun!"

-----

It's not fun.

It's - all right, it's better than trekking through the Upside Down or being on Lover's Lake, but that's not saying much.

"I can't believe there's a whole bunch of people who do this for recreation," Eddie mutters.

Why did he agree to this again?

"We're almost there, Eds, you're doing great," Steve calls back.

Steve, who's wearing shorts that cut off at mid thigh and a practically skin tight t-shirt, and oh, yeah.

That's why he agreed to this.

The massive backpack Steve's got on unfortunately blocks most of his shoulders, back, and ass, but Eddie can still appreciate how Steve's muscled thighs flex and bunch as he hikes, which is a frankly fantastic view.

And yeah, all right, when they reach a little clearing where he can hear the sounds of the river, can just see it - okay, it's a pretty great view, too.

Not just because Steve takes off his backpack and stretches out.

Robin laughs at Eddie when he whines at her, dropping down her own backpack, and he follows suit with the one he'd packed full of clementines and cookies and string cheese. Robin's got compasses and little canisters of fuel and batteries, and Steve's got tarps and a massive first aid kit and other assorted supplies. They'd split carrying two coolers between them, full of water and cold fried chicken.

Then they just wait.

They goof around together, laughing and joking. He goads Steve and Robin into seeing who can climb a tree faster, then steals two of the cookies that they've been smacking his hands away from no matter how much he pouted at them.

Over the course of the day, a dozen or so hikers pass by. It's a little bit fascinating - Eddie doesn't know anything about thru hiking, but he sits with one man who reminds him of his uncle for almost an hour, learning everything about the first time he hiked the Appalachian Trail all the way through in the early 70s. Once he asks if it's okay, Eddie takes a whole page of notes, planning for a section in his upcoming campaign.

Most of the hikers take them up on one thing or another. The monster cookies are a crowd pleaser, the fried chicken is devoured, and he's a little surprised by how excited people are even for the fresh fruit and cheese. Just about everyone takes water to rehydrate, and quite a few are grateful for some of the supplies - swapping their broken or empty things for what Robin and Steve brought. A couple of times, Steve puts his first aid training to good use and patches up some minor injuries.

By the time they're ready to head back, Eddie's reluctantly ready to admit that he had fun.

He reconsiders it briefly when he realizes all of their packs are just as heavy as they were on the way in - they may have unloaded a lot of stuff, but they also collected garbage from just about everyone so they could pack it out for them.

Eddie's exhausted by the time they get to Steve's car, and he must fall asleep during the drive, because the next thing he knows, Steve's jostling him awake outside of the trailer, walking him to the door. Eddie tugs him inside, shutting it behind them.

"Have fun?" Steve asks, a little smirk tugging at his lips, though Eddie can read the hint of hesitancy in his eyes.

Eddie leans in, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth, right at the curve of his smirk. "Yeah," he admits.

Steve hums, his hand coming up to curl around the back of Eddie's neck. His thumb strokes over the spot just behind his ear, and Eddie sighs softly as Steve tilts his head to kiss him properly.

"Thanks for coming," Steve murmurs into the kiss. "Even though it wasn't your thing."

Eddie drags the kiss out a little bit longer before he pulls away enough to look at Steve. "What'd you say when we went to the D&D convention?"

Steve laughs softly. "It had you and Robin and the kids, so that makes it my thing."

"There you go," Eddie says.

Steve kisses him again. It's still soft, so sweet it makes Eddie's heart ache - the kind of thing that Eddie would have scoffed at before, that might have made him slam his walls up and send him running. Now it makes his lips part, humming encouragingly when Steve runs his tongue over them, follows it up by sucking lightly at Eddie's bottom lip.

Now it makes his knees go a little weak - though, admittedly, the handful of miles he'd walked today are probably contributing to that.

"If you're going to keep that up," Eddie mutters, inhaling sharply as Steve's hand starts traveling lower, thumbing at his nipple through his shirt and then hooking two fingers into the waistband of his jeans. "We need to at least be sitting down."

"Dunno," Steve teases. "You look pretty tired."

Despite his words, he unbuttons Eddie's jeans, dragging his thumbnail along the line of his zipper. Tired or not, Eddie's dick twitches.

"I could hold you up," Steve murmurs, dropping a line of little biting kisses along his jaw. "Right against the wall."

Fuck.

"Bed," he manages to say, because as fucking amazing as that sounds - he's not risking getting up to those kind of shenanigans when they're tired.

He knows Steve doesn't really want to risk it, either, because he doesn't protest - just starts tugging them to Eddie's room.

They fall into each other slow and sweet, kisses that turn messy and uncoordinated and become more about them breathing the same air as they edge closer and closer.

He comes from grinding himself against one of Steve's thighs - an amazingly satisfying feeling after admiring the view all day - and Steve isn't far behind him, spilling over their joined hands.

Eddie goes boneless as Steve does a cursory job cleaning them up - and then they're tangled together again.

"Love you," he hears Steve murmur, and Eddie holds him even closer.

"Love you," he whispers back, just to feel the way Steve smiles into his neck as he falls asleep.

-----

No pressure tags - if you've already done this or aren't interested, no worries! @i-less-than-three-you @manda-panda-monium @hardboiledleggs

[angel-and-the-serpent]

Hey! I saw what you wrote with Crowley and Aziraphale being in a cabin in the middle of a windstorm! I think this ask is gonna be inspired off of that, but if you could write something about Crowley having fun outside in a middle of a windstorm and Aziraphale just trying to get him to come inside the bookshop and Crowley being a little shit and ends up ultimately dragging Azi in the wind with him and fluff ensues? Thank you!

Lovelies, I did it. i wrote an entire ficlet? oneshot? fanfic idek, SOMETHING for this wonderful anon, I hope you like it, and please dont be scared to send in more, I love doing these --------------------- Soho Windstorm Length: 715 words Context warnings: Language

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It had been a normal day so far. As far as you could consider a normal day for an angel and a demon. That was until a windstorm somehow got knocked off its path and ended up in Soho, how? Aziraphale could only imagine. Though, he thought as he stared out the window, eyebrows furrowed, it had to do with the man dancing in the wind, 

Crowley was having the best time she had had in over 6000 years.

Yes, admittedly he had diverted the windstorm, but eh fuck it, if anyone found out, he did it for demonic reasons. Crowley was dancing in the wind. Dancing, not on a pinhead, but in the middle of an empty Soho street while a windstorm caused chaos around him. 

He wasn't really dancing, not really, but more like, doing what he wanted. Spinning in circles, shouting at the top of his lungs, that's what it mostly consisted of, The wind whipped his face, leaves swarming and battering his shoes as he did his own thing in the wind. 

Crowley felt a sense of freedom, he was always provided with some sort of freedom by the wind, a breeze on the hottest day, a short fast blast through a fan, it always provided him happiness, he didn't know where it came from, but he wasn't against it. 

Crowley paused mid-spin as he saw his angel staring at him through the bookshelf window, he raised a single eyebrow at her angel, smirking as he raised a singular arm outwards, as an invitation, seeing whether her angel would come out into the wind and be wild, let go of the worries, let the thought of Armageddon, of looming danger from their minds “No” the angel mouthed at the demon with a small internal smile, “Come inside, you silly demon” *come inside where it’s warm, come in, and we can drink, and I can play the record you like…the one about nightingales* The demon laughed, jogging over to the bookshop door and pulling it open, gusts of strong wind shooting in and disrupting the nearby papers, to which Aziraphale let out a strangled gasp/ cry of “Crowley, dear really?!” The demon laughed, grabbing her angel’s wrist, pulling them outside the comfort of their bookshelf and into the winds outside, laughing at the angel's cries as the bookshop doors were miracled shut. “C���mon angel!” the demon yelled, pulling Aziraphale by the hands into the wind, “loosen up, angel!” “Dear, let me back inside!” the angel pleaded, with a fleeting look back at his book shop, before he was startled by Crowley's body wrapping itself around his in a tight hug, “2 more minutes?” Crowley asked, “Then we can go drink?” Aziraphale let out a small murmur in response Crowley laughed, releasing her angel and spinning on the spot, whooping and laughing, the angel stood to the side, huddling himself under the awning of a building, watching his demon with soft eyes and a small smile to join them, he loved - uh…liked, seeing his friend…his demon like this, free of the burdens hell gave him, free of all the pain on his shoulders, just openly himself, just openly happy. “Shit!” Crowley laughed as the wind got harder, “Get inside, get inside it’s bloody freezing” “I told you!” Aziraphale scolded letting them both into the warmth of the bookshop and deadbolting the door behind them, He miracled the record played to start the familiar hum of a song Crowley was partial to, as the demon sat down on the sofa, perking up with a wide grin as the familiar notes of the song he had introduced to them in 1941 played though the record player, “You don't have the record” he laughed, leaning forward with a smirk and a glint in his yellow eyes, “Bought it yesterday” the angel said, *just for you* “What one is it today?” Crowley asked, referring to the wine, “I’ll go have a look,” Aziraphale said, walking away, further into the shop, leaving Crowley on the sofa with a grin on his face, as he listened to the familiar voice play…

The streets of town were paved with stars It was such a romantic affair And when you turned and smiled at me A nightingale sang in Berkeley square

I hope you liked it anon!! - Angel

[kiwiana-writes]

3, 8, and 18 for the meta writer asks! And I hope the rest of your day goes better than the too-early morning. 💕

[Fun meta asks for writers]

Ugh, sadly it did not. Zooms that could have been emails, and all of that. ❤️

3. What is that one scene that you’ve always wanted to write but can’t be arsed to write all of the set-up and context it would need? (consider this permission to write it and/or share it anyway)

Ooooh this is an interesting question because I write so much short slice of life stuff that I do often just throw that stuff out there as little, like, mini ficlets! I have been sitting on a great joke my spouse made while watching the film where I was like "god I need to write that into a fic" but I just recently figured out what I was doing with that one, so now it's in the WIPs.

8. Is what you like to write the same as what you like to read?

Yes, but there's also stuff I like to read that I don't like to write (looking at you, anything that requires serious world-building.)

18. Do any of your stories have alternative versions? (plotlines that you abandoned, AUs of your own work, different characterisations?) Tell us about them.

At some point after it's finished publishing we should talk about the outline @ships-to-sail wrote for the Actor AU, because it was really good and when I decided the structure of the fic needed to match Much Ado About Nothing I ended up gutting a ton of it. Luckily she loves me (allegedly)

But for now let's talk about something totally unrelated: the Schitt's Creek 50 First Dates AU and the plotline I lowkey accidentally abandoned (that shit had no outline and no plan other than, like, the film and the show) and always meant to come back to in one of the alternate POV one-shots but never quite got around to. Totally set it up and then ditched it, whoops. But basically, Ronnie was part of the volunteer rescue team that found David and Alexis after the car accident, so she was WILDLY protective of David and deeply fucking suspicious of Patrick.

I went and looked because I was sure I'd scribbled a bit of this down and I'd actually written like 500 words of Alexis' POV! So have those below the cut:

Alexis’ head hurts.

That, in and of itself, isn’t weird. Between hangovers and jet lag and being knocked on the back of the head while being kidnapped — a totally amateur move, and a sign that her kidnappers really weren’t investing properly in their henchmen — she’s more than used to waking up with a throbbing pain in her temple. What is weird is that those days are behind her. No more taking the jet to Europe because she’s bored, no more trips to the embassy to pick up a new passport and a disguise so she can get across the border. So she doesn’t know—

“Alexis?”

The voice is vaguely familiar, but she doesn’t want to open her eyes yet, sure that when she does the full ache is going to turn into something much more immediately uncomfortable. 

There’s a sharp rapping sound, far too close to her ear, and she winces. 

“Shit, I think she’s waking up. Alexis? Come on, open those eyes for me. You can do it.”

In the distant background, she can hear sirens, and her eyes fly open in shock. 

“There you are, princess.” Despite the usual sarcastic drawl, when Alexis turns to face the window, Ronnie’s expression is full of concern. “Ambulance is nearly here. Think if we get this door open, you’re up for getting out, or do you want to wait for them?”

“David.” It’s all coming back now — the trip to Elmdale, fighting over the music, the cow. “Where’s David?” She turns to the passenger seat, ignoring the way it makes her ears ring, ignoring the pain radiating up her left arm. Her brother is slumped motionless in his seat, the window on his side of the car shattered and half the door crumpled in. There’s a huge gash across his forehead and wildly, irrationally, Alexis’ first thought is: He’s going to be so mad he can’t do his skincare routine. 

“Alexis, listen to me.” She doesn’t realise until Ronnie’s voice cuts through the fog that she’s sobbing his name, and she sucks in a shuddering breath. “We don’t wanna move him until the ambulance gets here, in case he’s injured his neck or his spine. What about you? What hurts?”

“Um.” She closes her eyes, trying to concentrate on anything other than the panic clawing its way up her throat. David is so still. “Just my wrist, I think. And a headache.”

“I think you might have whacked it on the steering wheel.” Ronnie’s eyes flick up to her forehead for a moment. “You’ve got a bit of a shiner, but I think we’re okay to get you out.”

It takes Ronnie and a man she doesn’t recognise — Elm County volunteer firefighters, they tell her cheerfully — to get the driver side door of the Lincoln open. By the time Alexis is standing on the side of the road, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders and her now throbbing wrist tucked carefully against her body, she can see the ambulance tearing down the road towards them. 

She won’t let any of them look at her until David is safely out of the car. Ronnie stands next to her the first hole time, her hand on Alexis’ shoulder far more gentle than Alexis could have guessed it would be, while they cut open the car door and strap up his neck before manoeuvring him onto a stretcher. 

[intheseautumnhands]

AO3 Wrapped: 3, 6, 17, 29?

3. What work are you most proud of (regardless of kudos/hits)?

Sheerly for the fact that I finally did it, it's gotta be the Steve/Peggy vid to Kill the Director. It was a learning process and I am honestly still really happy with it, even if I’ve gotten to the point where I can’t help seeing flaws.

Fic-wise, it's either the Hadestown soulmate fic I wrote for Hurt/Comfort Exchange, which I just think came out really well, or some truths get tired the longer we wait, where I am just damn proud of finally finishing something that ended up going past 5k.

6. Favorite title you used

I really like when I come up with titles that have a second layer of meaning that can easily go missed, either in relation to the reference (because pretty much all my titles are song lyrics or poem lines) or the canon or whatever. So I really like the title from the Fraiser fic I did for seasons of drabbles, which is about the three wives of Niles Crane -- "Give Him Your Hand Today", which is from a Guys and Dolls song that includes the line, "marry the man today and change his ways tomorrow". It fits the problems with marriages 1 and 2 very, very well.

Similarly, the Jack Murdock ficlet for the three sentence fest is called "there's no such thing as an unhaunted house", from a Brenna Twohy poem. On the surface, it fits Jack's wanting to give Matt somewhere to come home to that's not bogged down with bad memories like his own; but it also alludes to the way Jack's going to leave Matt with his own haunting in the end in a way that I really liked.

17. Your favorite character to write this year?

I have had a Kasimir Jones problem for two years running and it doesn’t look like it’s going anywhere anytime soon. He has eaten a corner of my brain, it’s almost on par with the Abigail Hobbs/River Tam problem at this point.

29. Favorite line/passage you wrote this year?

From fic that’s been posted:

The first year Hades came to fetch her early, Persephone hadn’t thought much of it.

It was a matter of days, then, not weeks or months, and the hand he’d reached out to her had been unsteady. He’d looked ashamed to be there already, shamed to be standing in her mother’s garden instead of meeting her at the station. That he hadn’t held out against the pain, maybe. He’d always taken it harder than her, but she hadn’t held that against him yet. How could she? She had the flowers and the vines, the seeds, her mother, the sun and the sky— a million little balms to help her push through the pain. All he had was the waiting.

(The Steady Beat of Our Bloodstreams)

Runner-up: the three-sentence fic about Lilith and ghosts

From drafts:

"You know, the first time I've ever stepped foot out of this city was our trip to the Deathlands." He stops, not sure how to explain the rest of it from there, but Lilith's smile is soft and sad, and he's not sure he needs to explain all of it for her. "I need to see what happens to it now," is all he says, and she nods.

"I thought so," she admits. She stands up, and for a moment Kasimir thinks she's leaving, but instead she darts forward. The hug is unexpected, but he wraps his arms around her tightly and lets her hold on as long as she feels the need. The snakes rustle against his shoulder; it's a strange sensation. He's almost sad he won't get a chance to get used to it.

He swipes at his eyes as she pulls away. Lilith, kindly, doesn't say anything about it.

(the art of living with a ticking heart, Blades fic which I started the night after the finale and am still trying to finish, whoops)

( AO3 Wrapped Writer’s Edition )

[simplyclockwork]

SIMPLYCLOCKWORK'S 2021 YEAR IN FIC

I'm a bit behind on this (whoops), but here are some of the fics I wrote in 2021 (listed by which fic proved to be the most popular for each month I posted a new work).

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January:

A Pleasant Surprise

Sherlock's first birthday after his return from the grave.

WC: 3645

Kudos: 349

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February

The Cherry on Top

John's never shown any interest in his Alpha flatmate, despite Sherlock's pining. When a case requires a different approach than usual, Sherlock finds himself struggling to keep his feelings to himself.

WC: 7875

Kudos: 883

(This is currently my most popular work. Thanks, Omegaverse!)

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March

Waiting (For the Rising Sun)

No one has looked at you like that in a long time. Possibly not ever. But he looks at you, he lays your life out before you, and he doesn’t stop there.

WC: 2648

Kudos: 240

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May

Hired Gun

After faking his suicide in response to allegations of fraud, two years into dismantling Moriarty's network finds Sherlock Holmes in Morocco. Nearing the end of his mission, he is apprehended by a man with the mercy of a doctor, the control of a soldier, and the brutality of a mercenary.

Through capture, betrayal, and unexpected danger, both Sherlock and John Watson, gun-for-hire, will have to learn who can really be trusted.

WC: 232,524

Kudos: 642

(Now, technically, I started this fic in 2020. But I finished it in 2021, so I'm claiming it for last year).

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June

The Mystery of the Red Pants

A few spectacular laundry mishaps lead to revelations between Sherlock and John - and maybe a bit more.

WC: 3203

Kudos: 274

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July

Kindred Spirits

A struggling Sherlock Holmes is forced into rehab by his older brother after Serbia. Doyle House, a recovery facility for celebrities, ex-military, and government agents, is the last place Sherlock wants to be. Angry and at odds with the world, he meets John Watson, a doctor on staff. As Sherlock navigates his recovery, he and John discover something growing between them.

Will an unexpected situation at Doyle House finally push them past the point of no return?

WC: 46,310

Kudos: 317

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August

Under His Skin

While shaving the face of a partially incapacitated Sherlock, John discovers something new about his flatmate - and himself.

WC: 3016

Kudos: 323

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October

On the Edge (Part 1 of the 221B Kinktober Fic Series)

Day 1: Rimming

WC: 221

Kudos: 105

(Doing Kinktober entirely in 221B ficlets, with one ficlet posted per day, was a fun little challenge).

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November

Like You Belong Here

In the aftermath of a firefight that killed half his squadron in Afghanistan, John Watson is back in London on forced leave. But with his parents long dead and his sister lost to the bottle, he finds himself alone. Unable to ask for the comfort he craves, John turns to the promise of a pleasure establishment. As luck would have it, there he meets a sharp-eyed man who seems to know what John needs better than he ever could.

WC: 11,289

Kudos: 206

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December

Sunspots

After Sherlock's overdose on the plane, John finally finds the courage to confess his deepest secret.

WC: 4021

Kudos: 173

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WIPs of Note:

Noise Complaint

One loud upstairs neighbour and three days of non-stop party music lead Sherlock to an unexpected meeting.

Current WC: 56,497

Current Kudos: 322

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I didn't write as much this year as previous years (Pandemic life really sucked all my energy away and I went back to work, so writing time has really changed for me). However, I did finish my longest work to date (Hired Gun) and completed two more works for Fandom Trumps Hate.

Looking forward to what 2022 brings! I promise I have lots of new stories, prompt fills and WIPs planned for this year. Stay tuned!

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Tagging some folks who might want to do this as well, but absolutely no pressure. Please feel free to do one even if you're not tagged and want to participate. Otherwise, a friendly reblog will never go unappreciated! 😘

@annecumberbatch @heyblinken @discordantwords @jbaillier @helloliriels @calaisreno @therealsaintscully @keirgreeneyes @vulpesmellifera @arwamachine @totallysilvergirl @shelleysprometheus @kettykika78 @7-percent @slow-burn-sally

[mariana-oconnor]

Weekly Word Count

This week has been a week of starting again and again and again. Which will absolutely be clear in the word counts below.

I have three more prompts to write, and after that I really do need to get on with all the other stuff I want to write, so this is officially the end of me accepting prompts for now. Thank you for all the ideas and the opportunity to take a little break, but I'm going to finish the ones I have and then get back to the bigger projects.

I actually had to start a new Google Doc for the prompts because the old one was soooo slow. I would type a sentence and then watch as Every. Individual. Letter. Came. Up. Like. This. It was painful.

Other than that, not a lot to report, writing-wise. I kept starting ficlets and going 'nope, that's not how this prompt goes' and starting again, which is frustrating, but way better with something that's 3000 words long than it is with something 100,000 words long. y'know.

Anyway.

Word Counts

Prompt Ficlets - 20,206 words

Winterhawk Fake dating - 14,870 words

Medieval AU - 5,336 words

CB's Birthday fic - 11,736 words (This has now gone completely off the rails)

Other random ficlet - 159 words

Total Word Count - 32,101

So yeah, as you can see, the words I wrote do not line up with the words I posted. I have so many false starts. But I firmly believe that the villain in my fake dating fic is better than the first version I had in which the villain was a telepathic and technopathic alien posing as an apartment building and calling itself Yeetseeker on the dark web. No, I'm not joking.

And @kangofu-cb, I'm meeting some of what you asked for. Just... I'm going to go back and add more smut to try to distract you from all the parts that are actually kind of the opposite of what you asked for. Whoops.

And onto my priorities for this week. Which are pretty much the same as last week because I got more prompts 🤣 Hence why I am now closing prompts because this could just turn into an endless cycle.

Priority List

Finish CB's fic. (This shouldn't take long, as long as my smut muse is feeling helpful)

3x Tumblr prompts (Thirst tumblrs, The many interruptions of Bucky Barnes, and the pining prince)

FWB FIC! Seriously, this is already past ridiculous. I need to do this.

Witch!Bucky fic.

[jurijurijurious]

Writerly ephemera meme

I was tagged by @thisbluespirit in this rather intriguing meme!

Find five bits of yourself that you gave to your fiction (memories and places and phrases and things into our stories), post and tag five or more writers to share as well.

Now I know I do write bits of myself and my experiences into my stories, one way or another, I think everyone does, but it doesn’t half put you on the spot when you have to try to remember where you’ve done it!

1) I know that recently I wrote Walsingham passing out at the end of a scene in “Mea Culpa”. The entire description is based on personal experience. I went through a scary few years as a young teen where I would pass out for little to no reason, usually at school where there were lots of people watching to cause me huge embarrassment, which then almost gave me a form of PTSD. I was constantly anxious about fainting, it was not good, and we never found out why it happened. But that’s another story... I still occasionally pass out but it’s usually for a reason, after having a vaccine or blood taken or something, but the whole process of fainting, though horrible, is like an old nemesis to me, uncomfortably familiar. I generally feel intense sickness in my stomach, my vision is puckered increasingly with white dots, my entire body comes out in a sweat, and I hear a high pitched whistle-type noise as I lose consciousness. And so since that is my experience, it became Wals’s too:

His palms sweated, his pulse raced...  He shuddered and emitted another strangled breath, fingers white where he clutched the window sill, body trembling.  He needed rest.  Ursula's voice was becoming distant, the room was swaying like the deck of a ship caught in a storm.  He felt a sudden nausea in his stomach, could hear a high pitched sound in his ears, a siren's wail beckoning him into the abyss.

“I am sorry.  So very sorry,” he whispered, though he knew not exactly who he was addressing.  His own voice now sounded as if it was coming from underwater, far away; he was drowning and could resist no more, slipped where he stood and descended into the open arms of oblivion.

2) This is another Walsibeth example I’m afraid because I haven’t written anything else for about a decade! So... Though the pandemic and my lack of funds has put a temporary hold to my hobby of horse riding, I am a half-capable rider and love tearing across country if opportunity allows on horseback. I can thus write people riding horses (English style, anyway) with a degree of accuracy. So in my smutty one-shot fic “In perpetuum et unum diem” (the one which is mostly a pastiche of the raunchy finale of “The Tudors” season 1, and also an excuse for me to write shameless sex), I began the ficlet with a bit of a horse-race between Bess and Wals to get the blood up (a scene that in itself mirrors Elizabeth’s racing with Raleigh in TGA, I later realised). Though I personally haven’t raced a person on horseback per se, I have done beach rides and also ridden on a horseback safari in Africa where you gallop as a group, and “giving your horse its head” is the order of the day! So a lot of this passage is me:

She turned her head back over her shoulder and caught Francis’ eyes.  His lip quirked slightly at the corner but otherwise there was no change to his countenance.  But that was enough.  Her smile deepend as if to invite him to race her and she turned her head back around, gave her dappled grey mare its head and pressed her calves to its flanks.  And the beast responded, driving its legs harder, faster, into a gallop and flew like a falcon through the trees.

...

As the wind flew in Elizabeth’s face, making her eyes water, a great whoop of exhilaration escaped her.  There was nothing but her and the horse, and the knowledge that her blackguard of a lover galloped behind her.  This was what it should feel like to live, even in tragically brief snippets; to feel the blood in your veins, the air in your chest, and the sun on your face, wild and free.

They then jump a tree trunk which I’d love to say I’d do, and I might, but most of my falls have been from jumping so I’d probably wimp out and go the long way around... ;)

3) Annnd another one from my Walsibeth fic “Mea Culpa”, just because it’s fresh in my mind. When I was driving to work last winter, there was one Sunday morning which had a jaw-droppingly beautiful sunrise. I tried to take a photo of it but could not do it justice. I did find a photo of Lincoln Cathedral on instagram from the same morning though which captured the sky perfectly. It literally looked like the sky was on fire, or something, and I immediately worked this memory into my story! I felt that a sky like that would make the perfect backdrop for a single, forlorn, broken bastard riding his horse in a clear, freezing morning:

There was a strange light in the sky as the sun began to make its ascent.  It turned a deep crimson then lifted to shades of rich amber and gold; this combined with the few grey clouds passing overhead gave it the illusion of a huge fire, as if a great furnace now filled the heavens.  Some might have called it beautiful, others would see a grim omen.

4) I had a look in my dreaded old fic archive, so full of cringe, and I found this from the end of my Doctor Who fic “Choices”, which I reckon I wrote between 2005-2006, possibly finishing it later than that. This scene right at the end (told from the perspective of Rose and the ninth Doctor’s daughter, Hope) is literally my old senior school - the class length, the finish time, the uniform was what I wore, and my history teacher was Mrs. Gaskin, and my mum would be waiting in her car to pick me and my sisters up:

By a quarter-to-three in the afternoon, she was in another History lesson with Mrs. Gaskin, and was spending another forty-five minutes hearing about the Black Death, the plague doctors, and the red crosses that were painted on people’s doors. It was fascinating, but Hope’s concentration wasn’t there. She kept looking out of the window at the school yard, noticing the little details that other days she would take for granted - like the way the trees swayed in the wind, the way a crisp-packet rolled across the concrete, and the pure azure-blue colour of the cloudless sky. Something was afoot but she had no idea what it was, or why she was feeling this way.

The bell rang finally at the end of the lesson, as the clock read three-thirty, and the class disappeared swiftly out of the door. It was home time! The voices of myriads of children echoed and shrilled down the corridors, and desperate feet, eager to get home, pounded down the stairs, making for the exits. White shirts were un-tucked from trouser and skirt hems, blue-and-red ties were loosened from about shirt collars, and black blazers were thrown off and carried over shoulders as the mass of pupils took flight.

Hope, however, took things slowly, almost as if she might never see them again, picking up on every smile, every individual laugh, and every joke pulled on every unsuspecting victim. She waved goodbye to friends, hitched her backpack over her shoulder, and made her way out of the school gates toward the spot where her mum or Uncle Jack would usually be waiting to pick her up. As she turned the corner onto Petunia Grove, though, she stopped and sighed. The car - either her mum’s or Jack’s - was not there.

Hope pursed her lips and shrugged, taking another good look around just to make sure that she hadn’t missed it, but there wasn’t a familiar car in sight. She thus let her bag slip off her shoulder, and she perched her backside on the street sign, swinging one of her feet back and forth as she waited for the arrival of her escort.

In the meantime, she couldn’t help but let her mind wander again, as it had been doing often throughout the day, and looked around the street. There was a blue tit on the hedge over the road, stood near a couple of sparrows and a robin. The front door of house number five was a brilliant shade of red, something which she had never really noticed before, and there was some graffiti on the road sign on the opposite side of the street. It read ‘Bad’ something or other, but she couldn’t read the other word since it was blocked off by the blue box.

Hope blinked and slowly rose to her feet. It couldn’t be…

5) And for number five, this is a short extract from the an unpublished Star Wars fic I wrote around 2010, where I tried for what must have been the third time to re-write the Star Wars nonsense I wrote as a teenager, all starring my very Mary Sue OC, Nadia, who became Vader’s apprentice and was mentored by Veers. I have here again worked my experiences of passing out into the story - a psychologist would have a field day with me. Nadia’s thoughts about showing weakness were also real fears of mine - I never liked to be weak, to be ill, to be a burden, and my character was the mouthpiece for my own self-disgust. It’s written in the first person with Nadia narrating in this scene where she accompanies General (Maximilian) Veers to the Kaminoan’s cloning facility to review further batches of troops and is taken ill by the experience of seeing the thousands of farmed foetuses:

Max nodded whilst I remained breathless and shaky in his shadow. I could not get those tiny, wriggling foetuses out of many head - they floated upon my consciousness, their inhuman eyes glaring into my face and their tiny hands reaching out toward me. I tried to rid myself of these infantile phantoms, but I could not, and I suddenly felt quite ill.

“We shall need many more in our next delivery,” Max told the creature, who began to babble on about the problems of this request, but was halted mid-sentence when Maximilian wheeled about and grabbed me, saying my name over and over. He disappeared amidst the snowstorm of white dots that littered my vision, however, and I collapsed upon the floor.

The next thing I knew, I was waking up in a bright, white room. The walls dazzled me for a moment and it took my eyes and my mind time to adjust and to recognise reality. I looked slowly at the plain walls, finding myself alone upon a bed with my hands by my sides and a drip feeding liquid into my arm. This seemed quite surreal - I knew I was not ill enough to warrant this - but I resolved to stay put until someone came to me. I felt extremely tired and I thought that I may as well take advantage of the rest.

I fell back to sleep again and, when I next woke, I saw Max sat in a chair beside me. I glanced about the room - we were alone. I looked at him uncertainly, my visage undoubtedly betraying the signs of my mortification, for he first said: “Do not worry, Nadia, I am not angry with you. It cannot always be helped.”

...

I wanted to defy him, to be strong, but no, I just showed him weakness and insecurity. What indignity was this?

Thanks for the tag, that was fun! I can’t think of 5 writers to tag but off the top of my head: @feuillesmortes, @robins-treasure and @captainofthegreenpeas? Have a go if you fancy.

[aadmelioraa]

Ritual, Aethelflaed x Aldhelm, rated T, 1.2k

Underrated form of intimacy: The quiet discussion and good-luck affirmations between you and the person helping you don your armor. The comfort of knowing that the straps and buckles are perfectly secure, because the person who did them up loves you more than words can say. (x)

A/N: @itslaurenmae​ send the me post linked above and whoops I wrote a little Aldflaed ficlet. Now, for the purposes of this fic we must imagine Aethelflaed wears armor that is actually functional unlike the single leather piece pictured above. Anyway, enjoy! (read on ao3 if you prefer)

It begins, like many things between them of late, as a matter of convenience. The pages are busy with other work at Ceaster (there are many preparations to make), so the task of helping her put on her armor falls to Aldhelm.

He eases the mail over her head, then begins to tighten the leather breastplate she wears while she adjusts her sword belt.

“This may be our greatest battle yet,” he says, shifting her braid so he can tighten the straps that lay across her shoulder.

She nods, drawing in a deep breath. “Today we must win a decisive victory for Mercia. We will not settle for anything less. ”

He cannot see her face fully but he knows that her brow is knit and her mouth drawn in a hard line. “The men are ready to fight for you, Lady.” He cannot carry her burden for her, but he can reassure her that she does not carry it alone.

They would follow her into certain death, though he knows she would never lead them there. It weighs on him that she must have counted how many men have died on her behalf. He suspects it is part of why she rides out with them at every chance, to do penance for the lives lost. She is brave, braver than he had known, but there is a streak of danger in her—not a danger to others, but to herself. The task to protect her from that streak falls to him. There is no one else to whom it can fall.

“We will defeat our enemy,” she says, her tone low but steady. “We will reclaim this land for Mercia.”

She cannot know the outcome in advance, but the confidence in her tone is nearly enough to convince him she’s dabbled in some type of pagan magic.

His hands linger on her shoulders as he asks, “Would you have me leave you?”

She turns to face him, and her hands catch his briefly.

“No, Aldhelm. I would have you stay.” She kneels then, looking up at him. “I mean to pray before this battle, will you wait with me?”

In answer, he kneels beside her. She smiles softly, then bows her head in a gesture of reverence and begins to move her lips gently in silent petition.

He does not pray but marvels at her calm. She is fierce in battle, yes, but she exudes such peace at times like these. He thinks this may be a more impressive type of strength.

The next time, at Tettenhall, she asks for his help again, and they refine their strategy while he secures the straps of her armor. Uhtred is busy with last-minute preparations of his own, and Aldhelm finds himself wondering if the task he is engaged in will ever fall to another. Unless Aldhelm should meet his end he suspects not, and that thought is comforting.

He does wonder if he will meet his end that day. They will be outmanned here, if not outmatched. It is not certain death they face, but something close to it.

“You ought not worry about Wessex, you know,” she says, as he’s finishing. “Edward will come to our aid.”

She’s in his thoughts, of course. An endearing and impressive habit she’s picked up along with many others.

“I do not worry, Lady. I merely contemplate our options should the unforeseen arise.” He pauses, and she turns to face him, making what he has to say next more difficult. “My lady, if they take you—“ His voice wavers here. He should not be so affected by the thought, but he allows himself one moment of tenderness while they are alone.

“They will not take me, Aldhelm.” She knows what she faces, yet she looks up at him with clear eyes, and her voice does not tremble. “If I am in danger of being taken, you must not allow it.”

He’s not sure he understands, but when her hand drifts to the knife at his waist her meaning is clear.

Aldhelm meets her hand on the hilt and nods. She exhales a shaky breath, her facade faltering for two beats of his heart, and then she’s raising her chin.

“Thank you, Aldhelm.”

He is not a particularly pious man, but that day with his blade pressed against her throat a desperate plea occupies his mind. Do not make me take her life, I should sooner take my own.

They are saved by the arrow of the king, and Aldhelm finds a moment amidst the turmoil that follows to wonder if his prayer had been heard.

Later that day, when the smoke and dust have begun to settle, she thanks him again. It is a strange thing to be thanked for not killing the one he loves. “I probably wasn’t the man for that task,” he says, foolishly, as she walks to meet her brother, but she smiles.

By the time she is queen in her own right he knows she ought to have someone conscripted for the task of helping her with her armor, but she does not, so he does not mention it. Their pre-battle routine has become one of his most treasured times with her.

This battle will be hard fought, but their odds are good. Better than he would think by looking at her face alone. She’s the one who worries today, and tries to mask it with a joke.

“You do not seem to have gotten any quicker at this, Aldhelm.”

“It is a task I do not take lightly, my lady.” His tone is more rebuke than jest, and he wishes he could find it within him to help bring levity to this moment.

One of his vambraces has come slightly loose, and she catches his forearm between her hands and turns it over, securing the troublesome strap.

Their eyes meet, and the heaviness behind hers disappears for a moment as she says, “I am glad to be able to return the favor finally.”

You have saved my life in ways I cannot express, he thinks, then stunned by the dramatic nature of that reflection he merely raises an eyebrow and stutters, “The debt is paid.”

The way she smiles back will be forever etched in his memory.

Her face grows serious then, and he wonders if they will speak of the coming battle, but instead she says, “Aldhelm, you do know—“

Then she stops, words catching in her throat, tears pricking at her eyes. He cannot bear to see her this way, and so he gently strokes her hand and murmurs, “Yes.”

She would love him, if she could. Perhaps she does. Perhaps she will. Perhaps…

None of that matters, not now. It pains him to watch her glance away, blinking back the tears, forcing her breath to remain even.

It has been a long day already, and she had taken leave of Aelfwynn only that morning. Their parting was always most difficult the first day, and it did not seem to grow easier with the years.

He kneels first this time, and she follows, hands still clasped in his.

She begins to pray, quietly, steadily, and he feels her strength return.

He remains fixed on her. He does not pray. This is his only ritual.

[skinsharpenedteeth]

So... I wrote a little ficlet about Alex's reaction to finding out he's being deployed to Iraq for the first time. It's dark, angst, and littered with self destructive thoughts and actions so... "dead dove: do not eat" I suppose. Also on AO3!

*÷*÷*÷*

"Wasted"

Cw: alcohol, drugs, depression

Rated: M, 1931 words.

...

It was March and cool outside (as cool as south Texas ever got). The walls of the house shook around Alex as he laid on an airbed on top of the coats of his squad mates. The coatroom was quiet compared to the rest of the house. They’d just received their deployment orders going to Iraq for six months so they were throwing their last bash before heading out. Outside the dark bedroom, his squad mates partied like it was their last night on Earth...and it could be one of their few left if things went sideways. Everyone was feeling untethered and wild. Booze was everywhere and Alex had taken a few bars from the bag of prescription party-pills he kept stashed for such occasions. He felt like a character in Alice in Wonderland, but he needed to keep himself from getting out of control. He had secrets he needed to keep and booze could make him chatty and handsy in the wrong situations. Now, however, he felt tired and floaty and the glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to the ceiling of the bedroom swirled slightly as the spins set in. 

    The stars reminded him of Michael. He thought about laying in the back of his truck watching the stars after sex. He could remember the feeling of sweat drying on his naked skin, the way the dry desert air made his breath loud and his voice hoarse after they’d been together, and the hard metal slats of the truck bed digging into his back despite the layers of blankets they used as a makeshift mattress. Alex could almost taste the secondhand Squirt and tequila on his tongue. Had that been only a year ago? 

    Alex’s stomach lurched as the spins took a violent twist and he swallowed thickly around the flood of saliva in his mouth. The odd numb, burning sensations on either side of his jaw alerted him that if he didn’t act fast, he’d be cleaning everyone’s coats. He took a deep breath in through his nose and slowly let it out his mouth, trying to control his gag reflex and diaphragm. After a few breaths, his stomach seemed to settle, but he had a feeling it wouldn’t last. Carefully, he rolled onto his hands and knees (overcorrecting only a little at the unexpected lurch of the inflatable mattress). He looked up and eyed the door that he knew led to a small en suite bathroom. It was about five feet away. If he moved slowly, he could make it without vomiting on the carpet. 

    The cool linoleum of the floor felt good against his palms as he crawled into the small closet of a bathroom. He pushed up the toilet lid and seat before letting himself slump against the cool wood cabinets. Light from the street shone into the bathroom and gave him enough illumination to be disgusted. This was Reyes and Phillips’s house, and it was obvious they’d never used a Clorox wet wipe in their lives. The smell of wet porcelain and dry urine made Alex’s stomach lurch again, but he clamped his teeth together and swallowed against his body’s urge to purge. He could wait it out. 

    “Hey, Manes!” Tyler yelled from the hallway. He banged his fist against the bedroom door and Alex cringed further into the bathroom, trying to hide from the noise and the inevitable wave of drunken airmen. “If you’re passed out, we’re going to put our balls in your mouth. The whole fucking squad’s!”

    Alex only had a second to appreciate the irony of how much he might enjoy that before the door banged open in the bedroom and the volume was suddenly turned up from 7 to 11. A few seconds later, the harsh yellow bathroom light blinded Alex’s vision for a second before he looked up and focused on the figures in the doorway. Tyler, Reyes, and Williams stood crammed in the frame all grinning down at him like loons. 

    “Did you vomit, Manes?” Tyler asked in a vicious tone. Alex shook his head, feeling miserable as he did so, and also like he might be falling, but he was pretty sure his body hadn’t moved. 

    “Good! Airmen don’t vomit. We cherish our liquor and don’t waste it. Get the fuck up, you’re missing the party!” Tyler seemed to yell. Alex shook his head again and started to speak, but was interrupted by the three pairs of hands hauling him off the bathroom floor and manhandling him from the bedroom. 

    “We’ll get you sobered up enough for round three. Come on, man!” Williams yelled. Alex was almost blind to the swirling lights and figures around him. When he stumbled and ended up on his hands and knees on the floor, he felt hands pulling him up again. Then he was being carried. With Reyes at his feet, that left Tyler and Williams on his arms to carry him. The cold rush of early spring air swirled around him as they carried him outside. He had a split second to register the undulating white and aqua light of the pool before he was airborne towards it. His body remembered for him that he wanted to hold his breath, but even so as the frigid water surrounded him he lost it in a great bubble of air. He sank until his feet hit the bottom of the pool, and then he was pushing off and propelling upward. He spluttered and coughed when he felt air on his face. He turned and glared at the whooping, laughing group at the edge of the pool. 

    “Still feel like yakking?” one of them yelled. 

    “CANNONBALL!” another screamed and then three of his squad were jumping into the pool too. Alex wiped off the water from his face that their entrances had splashed onto him and swam towards the wall. He clung on and tried to reorient himself. He even managed a weak smile for one of the guys when they swam past him. He felt numb. His fingers were stiff and clumsy and he was shivering against the pool wall. 

    “Come on, Manes! It’s a party!” Phillips chided as he swam up beside Alex and clung to the wall too. He paused and studied Alex’s face before his tone sobered. “How fucked up are you?”

    “Preddy… pretty fucked,” Alex managed to slur out. 

    “Booze and…?” Phillips asked quietly. It was no secret most of the guys added to their partying experience with other illicit substances. Phillips didn’t. He was a little older than the rest of them and tended to mother hen. 

    “Bars. Just a couple. I’m fine,” Alex lied, even as he shivered violently in the water. 

    “Sure. Go ahead and go back inside. Take the main bathroom. Lock the door and take a warm shower. I’ll keep everyone here for a while. You might grab a handful of pretzels on your way through the living room, yeah?” he suggested, trying to keep eye contact with Alex whose focus was wandering over the crystalline waves of the surrounding pool. 

    “Sure,” Alex replied a little breathier than normal. 

    “Do I need to escort you?” Phillips asked, adding some authority to his voice that drew Alex’s attention back to him. 

    “No. No, I’m fine. I’ll just get out and go take a shower. Like you said,” he managed. Phillips watched his face in concern for another minute before giving him a brief nod. 

    “On your way, then, airman,” Phillips said briskly, tone light but eyes continuing to assess Alex’s condition. Taking a deep breath, Alex grabbed the edge of the pool and managed to haul himself out of the water. His body felt like it weighed three times its normal weight. He sat on the edge for a moment, catching his breath as the cold night air immediately attacked what little warmth the water had helped his body keep. Teeth chattering slightly, he pushed up to stand and staggered back towards the house, water dripping off of him in sheets. Some part of him that was still human paused before going into the house and pulled his sodden shirt away from his body to wring it out before entering the house. 

    The heat of the surrounding house was almost oppressive once he finally slid the glass patio door shut behind him. Music still blared through the speakers and the smart, more sober half of his squad was still inside drinking. Alex’s eyes swept around the room, but he didn’t take in a single face. He started moving, legs jerking awkwardly, towards the part of the house where the main bedroom was. He paused in the kitchen to take Phillips’ advice and grab a handful of pretzels and a Bud Light before continuing on his journey. Alex heard a few of the guys call his name as he opened the bedroom door, but he waved them off before shutting it firmly behind him.

He found himself in another dark room, but this one with a proper bed and no coats. Alex shoved some pretzels in his mouth and tried to ignore how they seemed to expand and turn to glue on his tongue. He flicked on the bedroom light and lurched towards the open bathroom doorway. The bathroom was modest and relatively clean unlike the one he’d been found in earlier. He set down the beer and pretzels on the counter and started to peel the wet fabric of his clothes from his body. When he was naked, he turned on the water to warm up and returned to the counter to drink his beer and eat his remaining pretzels. He caught his reflection in the mirror. 

    The military had stripped any remaining baby fat from his frame. Well, that and learning to be a functioning alcoholic. Alex knew aesthetically he looked good, even with the shaved head. He was lean and toned and trained to move in quick, decisive movements. He looked exactly like the son his father had always wanted. He looked like a clone of ten other guys on his squad. He was nobody in the military. Alex had lost the one thing he’d always fought for: his sense of identity. 

    “I want to be with you, but not if you’re wasting your life, ya know?”

    His own words echoed distantly. He stared into his own face and saw how tired he looked, how sad, how… empty. And now he was going to war. He was another nameless, faceless body ready to die for a cause he didn’t fully understand or stand behind. Because he had to get away from his father. Because he had to save himself by turning into something he wasn’t. More hiding. 

    “You’re going to die out there. No one will mourn you, because no one will know you there. The last person who loved you--” Alex cut himself off and sighed. He downed the rest of his beer in a single, long swallow before crumpling the can and throwing it into the sink. He turned and slid his hand along the wall as he made the few steps to the edge of the shower. Pushing back the curtain, he climbed into the tub and immediately laid down, letting the stinging spray beat on his chest and stomach. Alex closed his eyes and thought again, You’re going to die over there. You’re going to die. You’re going to die. You’re going to die. 

    He drifted off with the warm water turning cool against his skin. He thought of what a waste this was. He’d made the wrong decision. 

[captain-of-the-historicfuture]

~hello~ !! For the meta asks!: 3, 6, 9, 12, 15, 18, 21, 24, and 25 :))

Hello!! Thank you for sending these; I was really excited to see that ask game and I was hoping somebody would send some in. It still took me a while to actually answer them though, and for that I apologise. But without further ado! Some meta answers (under the cut because they ended up being fairly long, whoops):

3. What is that one scene that you’ve always wanted to write but can’t be arsed to write all of the set-up and context it would need? (Consider this permission to write it and/or share it anyway.)

I thought of a few examples, but they could basically be grouped together under a common theme: whumpy/angsty scenes that were self-indulgent as all heck. The whole self-indulgent aspect often required the characters to be just the teeniest, tiniest bit OOC and/or necessitated rather unrealistic plot circumstances. So it was simply easier to keep such scenes as maladaptive daydreams, rather than trying to think of explanations for the character/plot issues…or exposing myself to judgement for them LOL.

Receiving permission to write/share one such scene anyway is an opportunity I can’t let slip by though. It might be because I’m writing this while running on zero (0) hours of sleep—let’s hear it for insomnia, y’all!—but I suddenly couldn’t remember any of my newer ideas under this category. However, I did recall a one-shot I had started writing a couple of months ago that sort of counts? “Sort of” because I could actually be arsed to write it since I was, ya know, writing it. Only got about six hundred words down though.

…should I share those six hundred words…?

………nahhh. I don’t think I’m quite ready for that yet.

But here’s the gist of it: Coulson and May (because of course it’s Philinda) were married for quite some time before the Attack on New York. But then Coulson DiedTM and then got ResurrectedTM. But gasp of horror, he had to lose his memories of his romantic relationship with May because reasons. (I actually did have some ideas for those reasons but sshhhh this is about me yeeting context and setup.)

The first half of S1 still happens as normal (except MayWard doesn’t happen because??? Vows) and it’s now post-E20 “Nothing Personal”. The morning after (or a morning soon after, whatever) the T.A.H.I.T.I. reveal! May’s mom—who doesn’t know about GH.325 and whom May fed a cover story about Coulson divorcing her or something equally as oof, IDK—shows up at the hotel and starts ripping into Coulson for breaking her daughter’s heart, then dragging her back into the field with her ex-husband (him), then accusing her of terrible things and forcing her away again.

Poor guy’s confused as heck, and so is the team, and soon enough so is Lian. The only one who understands what’s going on is May, and she’s freaking dying off to the side like why is this happening to me and eventually everybody’s like! Explain??? (Was thinking about including something from Coulson like, “Are you still keeping things from me?” Just for that extra smidge of angst, yay!)

So yeah then May gives a, like, two-sentence debriefing that elicits more questions than answers. Coulson decides to take May aside and they have a heart-to-heart. Lots of feelings and angst and hurt/comfort and at some point plenty of kissing too. Just! May hiding her feelings for Coulson’s sake but really magnified, plus some actual apologies and consideration of the grief May’s been through on Coulson’s part.

And uhh yeah that’s basically it I dunno hdsjncjshd. I warned y’all it’s OOC, plot-bendy, and very self-indulgent!

6. What character do you have the most fun writing?

I don’t think I could name a single character for this. I get different things out of taking on different voices, you know? I guess recently I’ve found myself gravitating towards more taciturn and introspective points of view, like JQ from my original novel Rosewood or M. Yisbon from my…other original novel Temple.

Generally, however, I like tackling stories from an outsider’s perspective. That’s why I so rarely write my more “substantial” (serious? demanding? for lack of better words?) projects from the PoV of my “preferred” character. This usually means writing from their love interest’s perspective, but not always. With shorter fanfic, using a more removed/unconventional/niche PoV can be really fun. Like, I once wrote a canon compliant ficlet purely(-ish) about Philinda from Tony Stark’s perspective. That isn’t always sustainable with stories that demand more character development or closer character studies, however, which is why it’s a good thing I like writing drabbles!

9. Are you more of a drabble or a longfic kind of writer? Pantser or plotter? Do you wish you were the other?

My word counts tend to run long, but I usually only write one-shots for fanfic. If I’m even inspired with a novella- or novel-length story idea for a fandom, you already know I’m in deep with them. And if I actually find the motivation to plan and execute that idea? Dangg. That’s only ever happened…twice, maybe thrice, and I’m in a lot of fandoms.

At times, I wish I could go for more of a middle ground ’cause, like, you know what I love to see? An AO3 dashboard with several completed novellas for my ship/character of choice. I mean yes, I hecking love >90k fics, but sometimes I’m in the mood for quick reads…and what am I supposed to do when I burn through all the drabbles and 2k one-shots? (Besides despair and/or reread my faves desperately.) Novellas are basically always safe for me LOL, and I’d hope to be able to give as much as I take.

Ultimately though, I think I’m okay with where I am with regards to that. I wish I could write more in general, but I’d be okay with “writing more” just meaning “writing more one-shots”, ya know? More than okay, really. I have mad respect for fic writers who have, like, a hundred or more one-shots under their belt for this one ship. The fandom ecosystem would be incomplete without them (as well as every other type of writer, but sshhh that’s the type of writer I’m closest to being right now).

I’m definitely a plotter, and I definitely prefer it that way. It’s cool having such a detailed record of my process. I like feeling like a frazzled genius on the brink of a major discovery with all of my different outlines and colour coding and many drafts and various websites.

12. Do you want your writing to be famous?

Not exactly. It might be cool if my original works were recognisable in the world, but I don’t think I’d want to be recognisable. As for fanfic, I’d low-key enjoy gaining a place in that fandom’s community as a fic writer. Like someone who gave and got fic gifts from fic writer friends, who participated in challenges and GCs, who received writing prompts on Tumblr, whose name was known for doing a certain trope/genre a bunch of times… Ya know what I mean?

Unlikely to happen when I’m so hecking hesitant to publicly (i.e., outside of AO3) claim credit for my writing, but fjnskfsjhfjs. A writer can dream, right?

15. Which is harder: titles or summaries (or tags)?

Of those three, tags are the easiest for me, for I have a reliable system for figuring out those.

Next easiest would probably be titles. For fanfiction, I like to use titles that are a quote from the source material. You should have seen all of my old Hamilton fanfic… I was really proud of some of those titles. And I don’t mean, like, whole lines—usually only two to five words. It’s a unique type of wordplay that I just love dabbling in.

And lastly, summaries. Sometimes inspiration strikes me and a snappy and intriguing synopsis just jumps out—one that I’m quietly pleased with—but most of the time I’ll spend way too long trying to think of such a synopsis and eventually just go with whatever I’d come up with so far. And live with my quiet dissatisfaction for the rest of time.

18. Do any of your stories have alternative versions? (Plotlines that you abandoned, AUs of your own work, different characterisations...?) Tell us about them!

Typically, no. If I have deleted scenes, I save and publish them separately, but that’s about it. I sometimes think of AUs for my own work and might talk about them in my author’s notes—might even talk about writing them—but I never really do anything with them.

Although…

It’s not uncommon for me to decide a plotline isn’t working for a certain story or to think of an interesting but undoable arc for a certain character, but what I’ll do is make a whole new story for those ideas. Once I’m done developing the original idea and the branched-off one, you probably wouldn’t be able to tell they grew from the same roots. Does that count?

21. What other medium do you think your story would work well as (film, webcomic, animated series, etc.)?

That depends on the story. I’ve actually written stories in other mediums—movie screenplay, musical stageplay, poetry, TV show scripts, play scripts, roleplay—but the novel does tend to be my comfort zone. Sometimes, if I have an idea that I think could work, or would even work better, as another medium, I’ll label it as such in my folder of ideas and decide not to write it as a novel.

Most of the time, my non-book projects are collaborations. I’m working with five different people on six different story ideas: two webcomics, one stage musical, one anime, and two animated TV shows. Little concrete progress has been made in any of those, mind you, but they’re still fun to discuss!

24. Would you say your writing has changed over time?

Absolutely. But I’ve been writing stories since I was five years old, so we would hope so, huh?

I wouldn’t say my writing’s changed completely, though maybe that’s just my insider’s perspective.

25. What part of writing is the most fun?

Oh gosh, I can’t believe you’d make me choose. Writing is just such a wonderful experience for me; I love just about everything to do with it. Admittedly, not all the time, but. Since that barely qualifies as an answer, however, I’ll give you this—

The endings. Not only that intense feeling of rightness when you wrap up that last sentence, but also the moments before. The adrenaline of knowing you’re almost there but you gotta push just a bit more to actually get there. And also the part right after—the real wrap-up, honestly: the revision and the editing. Heavens, I love revising and editing my work.

Which is not to say I don’t like writing it out for the first time, too—there’s nothing quite like seeing your cursor scroll to the next page, like going from a blank expanse to a Oh man, how many more lines are even going to fit on this page?, like watching that page counter tick up another number. However, there’s something cathartic about finally ironing out those problems I had to force myself to stop worrying about earlier because “just finish the first draft dangit”.

I guess that’s not really the end of the writing process, but whatever. Close enough (as fic writers are wont to say).

Another thank-you for these asks, and feel free to come back with more at any time! ;P

Send in fun meta asks for your friendly neighbourhood writer!

[alwaysupatnight]

Fanfic end of the year asks: 3, 8, 9 and 10 🤣

3: Favorite line/scene you wrote this year I think this one will have to go to Losing My Cool. XD It was so much fun to write Seth being clumsy in love because he’s almost never portrayed as a dork and I just love to see him get overwhelmed by Kate. I say this all the time but HE IS NOT THE SMOOTH MFER HE THINKS HE IS OKAY. Also writing this little fic was a lot less pressure on me. At least it was when I still believed it was just gonna be a small ficlet under 1000 words... haha whoops

8: Favorite character you wrote this year I think it was Kate Fuller. She’s normally a struggle for me and I’m much more comfortable writing Seth because I speak assholeese, but I had a better time writing for her this year surprisingly.

9: Favorite writing song inspiration Lonesome Dreams by Lord Huron!! I still gotta get on that apocalypse fic!! XD It gives me all the last man au feelings every time I hear it!!

10: A new kink you wrote by surprise in a fic this year LMFAO Well... I haven’t actually written any of the kinks yet... but @yossariandawn and I have discussed it and we have discovered that Seth Gecko TOTALLY has a praise kink. XD HOW HAS NO ONE WRITTEN ABOUT THIS YET? Also Seth getting choked in bed. lmfao It’s already a gag in the show. LBR SETH WOULD TOTALLY ENJOY GETTING CHOKED BY HIS BEAUTIFUL YOUNG WIFE. Y’all I made this gifset [here] forever ago hoping to inspire something and it has not been fruitful as of yet. XD

Fanfic End-of-Year Asks

[fluid-quartz]

its almost 2 am, i make poor life choices, and i just wrote a small ficlet based on @welsfight ‘s post about how ex eats and the weird theories that stemmed from it. i thought about putting the biggest part of it under the cut cause its like ~1800 words but i dont feel like it whoops

so without further ado, i present to you:

THE HERMITS AND THE MYSTERY OF HOW EVIL X EATS

It was a nice evening out, as they all sat around the campfire. Tango was sitting almost inside of it, roasting marshmallows for everyone that wanted them, and the others were just chatting with each other, about some of their projects and plans or simply about things that had happened.

Cub was looking pensively the whole time, as though he was trying to figure something out.

“Hey guys? Strange question, maybe, but… Do you ever wonder how Evil X eats, what with that helmet that never goes off?” The conversation around him dulled, multiple Hermits just staring at him for a moment.

“That… is a very good question,” said Zedaph as he jumped to his feet. He sensed there was a great game show in this, probably. “Ladiiiieeeeees and gentlemeeeeeen! Welcome to the first episode of How Do They Eat?! This time, we’re discussing Evil Xisuma!” A few of them chuckled, shifting in their places a little to be able to properly see Zedaph, who had just completely taken on his game show host persona, including putting a little desk of brightly coloured concrete in front of him.

There was only murmur for a moment, and then Bdubs stood up, dramatically clearing his throat.

“Well, I think he eats nutrient pills that he pops through a coin slot. So he can still have a balanced diet, you know?” As he spoke, Keralis’ eyes grew even larger than they already were.

“Slot machine? Did you say… Slot machine, Bubbles???” he said, not-so-sneakily looking around to see if Evil X was around somewhere. Iskall just laughed, and Bdubs looked at Keralis with judgment in his eyes.

“No, no, you can’t play slot machines on Evil X, he puts a cork in the coin slot when he isn’t using it.”

Keralis wanted to go against it, but Zedaph was quicker and louder.

“That’s an interesting theory you got there! But… Are there others? Surely you must have wondered before how he eats. Come, don’t be afraid to speak up!”

Doc immediately raised his hand, then stood up to speak.

“Guys. It’s obviously a teleportation ray. He just points at food, and it reappears in his mouth or stomach, depending on how lazy he’s feeling. It’s the simplest scientific explanation.”

“That’s a load of bullshit, Doc. It implies that he needs to eat, and we all know he’s secretly a robot. He just hasn’t shown it yet, right, guys?” Biffa interjected before anyone else could speak. There was some muttering about it, until Zedaph once more took over.

“Biffa, I appreciate the input, I really do – yes, yours too, Doc, don’t worry – but for the sake of the game, let’s assume he eats.”

“But what if he doesn’t? What if… What if he’s immortal! Immortals don’t eat, right?” Keralis butted in enthusiastically.

“Well, then we wouldn’t be playing this game, right? So! Theories! I personally think he can just remove a panel of his helmet, and then sucks it in like a vacuum cleaner. Or like Kirby, that might be closer to reality. They are both red, after all.”

“Kirby’s pink, Zed.”

“I don’t care, Tango, I haven’t heard you name a better theory.”

All eyes in the circle were suddenly aimed at Tango, who almost dropped a batch of marshmallows into the fire.

“Uh…. I uh… Maybe his helmet is just fused to his face? So like, it opens up when his mouth opens?” He sounded a tad unsure of himself, having to think up a theory on the spot. Still better than kirbying, though. Stress immediately started bouncing up and down on the ground, her hand raised high into the sky.

“Oh, oh! What if the glass part of his helmet just opens, so he can drop the food in?”

“Or the top. It could also be the top of his helmet that opens, like a fishbowl,” interjected TFC’s gruff voice. He sounded amused, though. Very much so.

“Wouldn’t that just create a very big mess? For all we know the bottom half can just open up separately from the rest, so he can just eat more or less normally,” Wels shrugged, looking over at Zedaph once more.

“Those are all very valid theories. A bit boring, though, and plain! There’s more points to be got with creative theories!” He was smiling widely, looking around at the others. Then he pointed at Iskall. “You! Iskall! What is your super mega awesome theory of doom?”

The swede looked bewildered, and thought for a moment. Then they could almost literally see a redstone lamp going on above his head.

“An airlock! Like in spacecrafts! That’s why the bit in front of his mouth sticks out a little, it’s so that food can first get surrounded by the Right Kind of air before it gets to him!” He was beaming, thinking his theory was the most clever one out there. Until Mumbo spoke up.

“Uhm… Iskall? How would he get the food from that airlock into his mouth?”

“I don’t know, maybe he just like… tilts his head backwards and hopes for the best?” Around him, various Hermits were laughing. The mental image of spooky, scary Evil X desperately trying to make a cookie fall into his mouth and failing horribly just did that to someone.

“Oh! If we continue in that vein a little… You know how items sometimes just kind of clip through walls? What if that’s how he gets food inside of his helmet? By having it just clip through? Sometimes it would just get stuck, though, out of his reach,” Impulse mused, smiling widely.

“Gosh, that would be soooo difficult to clean, though!” Stress sighed.

“Then he can just clip through some cleaning supplies as well, don’t worry about it.” Impulse chuckled, then stuck out his tongue at the face Stress made.

From the other side of the campfire, Jevin’s voice suddenly popped up.

“You know, I bet he eats enderpearls like eggs.”

The murmuring that had been present completely died down as he looked around, completely serious. Zedaph opened and closed his mouth a few times.

“That.. That wasn’t even the question, Jevin! Do you have any theories about how he eats instead?”

“Yeah… Yeah, I do. I think he just… He either boils them, and eats them with the crunchy scale, or maybe he just sticks a straw in to slurp up the insides. Evil X seems like someone that would do that.”

“ABOUT HOW HE EATS IN GENERAL, JEVIN, NOT ABOUT HOW HE EATS ENDERPEARLS!” Zedaph sighed, then shook his head and facepalmed. “Anyone else. Literally anyone. Please.”

Python mumbled something in response, too quiet for even the people around him to hear properly.

“Could you repeat that a bit louder, please?” Zedaph asked, and Python looked him straight in the eyes.

“… maybe he vores?”

“No. Nope. Cursed theory right there, ladies and gents. Python, please go sit with Jevin to think about your sins, and maybe you won’t go in the dunk tank.” He pointed over to were the grinning slime man was sitting, and Python stood up with a shrug, faking disappointment and fear for the dunk tank. Then Mumbo raised his hand.

“Okay, so, what if his helmet functions the same as Darth Vader’s mask? What if there’s just some kind of mechanical cheese grater that he can just put food through, so it can go through his helmet and into his mouth without too much trouble?” A bit of muttering sounded here and there, once again with sounds from Stress about how horrible that would be to get clean.

“What if… What if he just like… Photosynthesizes, man… like a flower, getting nutrients from the sunlight and from putting his feet in the dirt… how nice would that be, man...” Ren said, his drawl slow and relaxed.

“Ren, I think you had too many of those mushrooms, your Renbob is showing. Though, I think it’s quite obvious. He just uses a feeding tube to get his food in, or perhaps a straw and blendered food. It could simply go through a small hole in the helmet.” Scar then popped a few unroasted marshmallows into his mouth before continuing. “That way, there’s no mess at all.”

The theory earned him some nods, and then Cleo stood up. Slowly, to get the attention of everyone around.

“While all of you have great ideas, I think it’s obvious how it works. Evil X just eats like Sandy the Squirrel, from Spongebob.”

“And how would that be, Cleo?” Impulse asked.

“Well, he just… puts food into his mouth through the bottom of his helmet, where it connects to his armor. Of course, that means he has to open up his armor a little bit, but that’s done easily enough. I bet he has a zipper too.” She smiled widely, with a look in her eyes that said that she knew full well that there was no way that her theory was correct. It made Joe sigh dramatically.

“What is wrong with all of y’all?! He would just take off his helmet and eat like a normal person!” False raised her hand.

“I gotta stop you there, Joe. We both know that he can’t breathe Overworld air unaided, like X can’t either. So, let me propose the following: He takes a whiff of his inhaler so he got air for a little bit, then he takes off the helmet and he just starts shoveling in as much food as he can before putting his helmet back on. And then he repeats that until he’s done eating.”

“I can live with that,” Joe said, and then he looked over at Zedaph. “That seems like a good and valid theory, right?”

“It certainly does, Joe! But… Since we’re nearing the end of the episode, why don’t we ask X for some clarity? If anyone knows, it would be him. Let’s see how close we got, everyone!” He then proceeded to pull Xisuma to his feed, and pushed him to be behind the host desk. It made the admin chuckle, but he took on the role that was apparently expected of him.

“It’s quite simple, actually,” Xisuma started, “Just like me, he can use a breathing tube so he can just take off-”

He then got interrupted by Grian yelling “STOMACH MOUTH! STOMACH MOUTH!” repeatedly at the top of his lungs, because he couldn’t quite believe how easy and boring the solution was. Xisuma looked over at him with a raised eyebrow, and then he just shook his head as the Hermits around started laughing. He loved those idiots.

[alphaflyer]

Meme (with corrections)

I was tagged by the lovely @cloud--atlas.  And so I copied her piece, with the intention of inserting my own answers.  But there were a couple of places I overlooked, leaving her answers in place...  OOPS.  I fixed one before people read the post but didn’t notice another, so I just decided to delete the original and repost the corrected version.  APOLOGIES!!

AO3 name: AlphaFlyer

Fandoms:

The Avengers (Marvel Movies) (59)

Marvel Cinematic Universe (49)

Star Trek: Voyager (30)

Hawkeye (Comics) (10)

The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types (8)

Captain America (Movies) (7)

Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV) (5)

James Bond (Craig movies) (4)

Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies) (3)

Thor (Movies) (2)

Black Widow (Comics) (1)

Ant-Man (Movies) (1)

Avengers (Comics) (1)

Note that most of these (like James Bond, Agents of SHIELD) tend to be crossovers with MCU.

Number of fics published:

AO3 tells me it’s 101, but “Moments” has like 32 distinct fic in it, so it’s more like 132.

Fic I spent the most time on:

Do long periods of inactivity allowing it to simmer in your subconscious count?  That would be my two-season MarvelBang, “Seventh Crow”, which I started in the spring of 2015 and finished in the fall of 2016, mostly because of an intervening transatlantic move and family issues, resulting in resolute inability to write.  Until my friend Inkvoices made me a fanvid, based on what she knew about the story, and sent it to me for Christmas.  

Fic I spent the least time on:

That would be a tie between Savile Row and Five Times SHIELD Tried to Recruit Clint Barton. The first I cranked out over an evening, based on a tag game on LJ; the latter I wrote longhand in a boat while my husband and daughter were fishing, and then typed out/edited it in the evening.

Longest fic:

The top 5 spots are all taken up by Star Trek:Voyager fic, with #1 going to Off the Shoulder of Orion with a word count of 78,804.  That was around the time when I started posting chapters before having finished a story, a gamble that ended up backfiring when I ran out of steam on “Proof of Life” (FFN only, so I won’t link to it here.)

Shortest fic:

Among the fic posted on their own, rather than in my Moments collection, that’s a tie between 3 Five-Plus-One fics, in all of which the individual segments are drabble length at 100 words each. The only difference between the three is the length of the author’s note, otherwise they’re exactly 600 words apiece.

Most hits:

Second Mouse, with 38,678 hits (unless you include FFN, where Skies Over Manhattan comes in at 49,169 - but that site counts individual chapter hits.  “Skies” is second on AO3 with 23,579).

Most kudos:

Skies Over Manhattan, with 899.  (Yo, Folks, can we get that to 900 plsntx.. :P)

Most comment threads:

Moments, at 253  (This is my 32-chapter ficlet collection, so people tend to comment on each chapter as it comes out).  For a single story that came out all at once, it’s that energizer bunny MarvelBang, Second Mouse, with 103.  

Most bookmarks:

Runaway winner is Skies Over Manhattan, with 330.  Followed by Second Mouse with 208.  Five Times SHIELD Tried to Recruit Clint Barton, In The Service and Double Deuce are in a virtual tie for third with 137, 136 and 135.

Total word count:

According to AO3, 980,381.  Whoops.  Seriously???

Favourite fic I wrote:

Oh, man. I hate that question.  I'm really pleased with how Second Mouse turned out - nothing but good memories from my collaboration with Inkvoices who illustrated it; also pleased with the sequels and the reception it got from readers.  And @hawksandspiders just did a detailed analysis of it on her DW account, which was totally thrilling and made me even prouder of it.

Another little one I’m quite fond of is my Voyager piece “Grace”, because of the rhythm and cadence I used to convey the sense of urgency in the story (a lot fewer people read it...).

Fic you want to rewrite/expand on:

Whoops - so an earlier version of this post left in a clip from @cloud--atlas‘ original post that I cut and pasted...  No, I did NOT write “Red Star” although it’s one of the few threesome fics I genuinely like!  Here’s my answer:

“Choices”.  My very first fanfic ever. First ever attempt at writing, in fact.  It’s a post-ST Voyager Endgame thing, detailing what happens to the crew (specifically Tom Paris but others as well) when they come home.  It still holds up content-wise, but the dialogue is clunky in parts and the paragraphing atrocious.  I haven’t had the guts to go back in and fix it, because it is my Firstborn and we need to own our mistakes and show how we’ve grown as writers somehow (also it’s in the top-5 Voyager stories on FFN in terms of “favourite” pings as it is, so it should probably be allowed to stand on its own). But whenever I look at it, I cringe a little at how much better it could be.

Share a bit of a WIP or a story idea you’re planning on:

Three words:  Clint and Flerken.  I keep rewriting that one though, so I’m not sure when it will see the light of day...

Also waiting for my @be-compromised “Remix” assignment!