#Blanket tag. Go ham. 💜

[ninadove]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love ❤️

Thank you Sunny! 🖤☀️ You know how much I love talking about my own fics. Hehe.

I love each and every one of them, notably a Layton one I can’t show yet, but for now (in the order I find them back):

I know there’s been pain this year (But it’s time to let it go) [🦚]

“What? Nooo! Adrien doesn’t hate Christmas.”

“Are you absolutely certain? What was he like last year?”

“Well, he —”

Marinette furrowed her brow, scanning her own memories. Of course she was absolutely certain. At least, she thought she was.

Okay — she could not ignore that Adrien had run away from home that night, wandering the snow-covered streets to escape the freezing cold of his own home. Nor could she brush away the disintegrated Morris column, cataclysmed for the crime of bearing his own face.

Oh, and the shaky videos circulating on YouTube. That musical number was… Concerning, to say the least. Still, it was no smoking gun.

Right?

“Oh my god,” she squeaked, plopping down against the counter. “Adrien hates Christmas.”

I had been trying to write this fic since I was 14, with the wrong characters and the wrong tools. I have many feelings about what makes a family and what it means to heal and what magic truly is and I am so so so happy to have finally stitched it together!!! Plus it has the cousins and Feligami and Amelie and Duusu and Plagg. This fic is the Christmas ornament I will always find a special spot for on my tree! 🎄❤️

Daedalus [🎩]

“It was you, wasn’t it?”

The words are soft, but certain; for all the accusations that have been brought against him, this one stings in a unique manner.

Luke settles on the limestone bench, facing away. His gaze lands on the tip of his shoes, or perhaps sways with the blooming lilac.

“The little boy in the statue,” he finishes, even though there is no need. “I don’t know how I didn’t put it together back then.”

This one is just me going back to my roots, and at my roots are Clive and Hershel. One of these days when my emulator works I shall stream the rest of the game so you guys can understand

Satellite [🦚]

It hits him like a truck, or rather it doesn’t: the truck metaphor would imply a projectile, a concentrated blow set in motion by a well-known mechanic. It would imply that Adrien asked for it, that he crossed the street while the light was still red, or that maybe he sat in the middle of the highway and waited.

But no. He is at the mansion when it happens, in the atrium — not even in the study nor the basement nor the attic, not in any of those places he is not supposed to lurk in. Earth itself reshapes under his feet, cracking open to swallow him whole.

SUN FELIX YOU WILL ALWAYS BE FAMOUS TO ME. ☀️

Ou bien dans les étoiles [🪶]

Cyrano’s light would be a gift and a punishment: a finger pointed straight at the vileness of the world, the caress of April upon a dandelion. As for the darkest parts of his soul, the threads of self-hatred he had danced on all his life, Le Bret would guard them with the devotion of a hellhound.

OR: Le Bret never finds the words to talk about Cyrano, but someone else does.

I may translate this one at some point… Cyrano de Bergerac is a love letter to the French language, after all. 🖤🪶

Mayday mayday (This ship is slowly sinking) [🦚]

After years of spatial exploration, Adrien lets his ship drift into nothingness.

A century later, Argos is born.

I just. Have. Thoughts. And feelings. About this one.