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[firenati0n]

Fic Pride Friday

Thank you to the fabulous @rmd-writes for the tag! As always, though, with 239 fanworks on AO3, this is a beast of a task lmfao.

Rules: Post your favourite line or passage from as many of your published works as you’d like. Let yourself feel proud of your creations! Tag as many people as you post snippets, so your fellow fic friends can be proud, too.

This got long (and I'm like... actively trying not to Feel Bad™️ about that), so four fandoms' worth of snippets under the cut!

Tagging: @agame-writes @affectionatelyrs @anincompletelist @cha-melodius @cricketnationrise

@dumbpeachjuice @firenati0n @getmehighonmagic @happiness-of-the-pursuit @hgejfmw-hgejhsf

@indestructibleheart @inexplicablymine @sparklepocalypse @stereopticons @whimsymanaged

And, of course, an open tag to whoever wants to play!

Red White & Royal Blue

What a beautiful tone aka introspective rimming:

Henry has touched Alex in a thousand different ways since he shook the hand of a beautiful boy with a yellow ipê-amarelo in his pocket and fell in love, so he doesn’t quite understand why he’s trembling as he rolls them both until Alex is on his back, hair spread out on the pillow, lips parted slightly and eyes filled with trust as Henry settles on top of him. With his arms bracketing Alex’s shoulders, Henry places a hand on Alex’s jaw and pours all the love and pride that’s been coursing through his veins since Alex delivered his speech into a deep kiss, his tongue running along Alex’s bottom lip, coaxing it further open. The noise Alex makes in response is devastating. He’s a live wire, arching up into Henry’s touch in a way that is somehow both entirely nonsexual and an unbelievable turn on. Alex moves like he’s trying to crawl inside Henry’s skin, letting out soft moans and shivering gasps that burrow their way between Henry’s fourth and fifth ribs and carve out a place for themselves there, somewhere only Alex has ever reached.

All the Lonely Starbucks Lovers, the coffee shop 5+1 where Alex is so hot it very literally makes Henry stupid:

“How can I do you today?” Bollocksing, buggering fuck. Henry’s going to have to migrate to Tristan Da Cunha. Actually, while that’s the most remote place he knows of, he’s also fairly certain they’re a British Overseas Territory and therefore speak English, which isn’t particularly helpful in his current predicament. He’ll brainstorm, though he expects that the long and sordid history of global British colonisation is really not going to be his friend here. Walking Wet Dream blinks slowly—once, twice—before his face splits into a wide grin. “Tempting fucking offer, sweetheart.” A tongue peeks out to wet a pair of plump lips, which only provides Henry with some extremely vivid ideas for what else might look good between those same lips, and oh Christ, if he actually gets hard underneath this hideous apron he’ll have to lock himself in his own basement. The fact that he doesn’t have a basement is immaterial, really.

A Practical Arrangement, the arranged marriage AU -- tbh I'm proud of ALL of Alex's internal narration about Henry in chapter one but this is a particular favourite:

“I thought Windsor valued courtly manners?” Alex grins widely, tampering down a smirk at the way Henry’s ridiculously chiselled jaw twitches, obviously displeased at the way Alex is going off-script. “As your betrothed, surely you should be showering me with compliments as you greet me?” Henry raises an eyebrow, and looks at Alex in a way that makes him suddenly, viscerally aware of the four inches of height Henry has on him. It’s a height difference that has always put Alex on edge; it never used to be the case, Alex is pretty sure from the vague memories he has of them in their younger years, but between one meeting and the next, suddenly Henry was no longer at his eye level. “As soon as I find something to compliment, I assure you I shall do so.” Alex almost laughs; that was funny. Rude and untrue, but funny. It’s a shocking amount of personality for Henry to display. “Back in Texas, they extol my many virtues, Your Royal Highness,” he drawls, pointedly ignoring June’s scoff. “Do you need me to give you a list?” “I’m sure they do,” Henry says gravely, but there’s a flicker of something at the corner of his mouth that could almost be a smirk. There’s a long pause before he adds: “…in Texas.” Alex’s jaw drops before he can stop it. That absolute fucker.

Kinda think that I might be his type, the Alex and Bea fake dating fic that blew up in a way I wasn't expecting but am forever grateful for; I'm proud of this whole damn fic but this line made me get up and walk away from my computer after writing it lmao:

“Don’t worry, though.” He winks at Bea, tampering down a grin at the way she bites her lip as she realises whatever he’s about to say is at serious risk of making her laugh. “We’re not going to wait until I’m out of school to start popping out great-grandbabies for you. I wanna be papi for real, not just to my little honeypot here, if you know what I mean.” The sharp clatter of Mary’s teacup against her saucer thankfully drowns out the choked wheezing sound from Bea’s throat; Alex only risks glancing at Bea for a moment, just enough to realise she’s fighting for her life not to burst out laughing. He’s not sure how much longer he can keep this up before he sounds like he’s reading lines from a terribly scripted and vaguely racist porno.

Puck It, the college hockey AU with my favourite analogy I've ever written:

Alex is aware that he might be bisexual in the same way he’s aware that he might be allergic to cats; there have been a few brief interactions to make him think it’s probably true, but so far it hasn’t had any impact on his life, so he hasn’t really had a reason to look into it and find out for sure. Now, faced with Henry’s clavicle and the sudden, vivid mental image of sinking his teeth into it, he’s not sure how theoretical it is anymore.

Handprints in wet cement, the 5+1 celebration of Henry's Oxford Slut Phase that is just so important to me:

“It’s not.” Alex’s fingers flex a little, digging into Henry’s skin. “It’s— you had all these experiences, and sometimes I can’t believe you want to share them all with me. That you’ll just tell me about them, and if it’s something we’re both into, we can just… go for it. It means a lot. You know that, right?” Henry blinks at him. If he’s honest, he’s never really understood Alex’s eagerness to hear about Henry’s uni hookups; Henry himself, while not bothered by Alex’s own past, has never felt any particular need to seek out stories about it either. He’d just assumed it was another facet of Alex’s insatiable need to understand things; he hadn’t realised it was important.

I've carried this song in my mind, the Arthur-from-beyond-the-grave fic, have one of the many MANY passages that made me cry to write lmfao:

You don’t need to find Orion, Arthur wants to tell him. I’m in every constellation, in your heart, in your soul. I’m here. I’m always here. But Henry can’t hear him.

Schitt's Creek

Wander Where They Will, aka the swans fic:

It felt like only a moment later that something woke him, though the pitch-black room made it obvious it had been several hours since he dozed off. It had been so long since he was in such close proximity to other people that David didn’t realise what he was hearing, at first. The gasp that rang out in the silence made his eyes snap open and his body tense up, and there was a thump and a high-pitched, muffled moan before the realisation slammed into him. He shifted in the bed, trying to block out the sounds out of a sense of… privacy, he supposed, or decorum. That must be why his stomach was clenching, so tight he could barely breathe. Patrick, it seemed, approached lovemaking the way David has seen him approach everything else—quiet, determined, methodical. All the noises coming from their corner of the cottage seemed to be Rachel’s; only a rhythmic panting betrayed Patrick’s part in the process. Even at the end, he barely made a sound. David couldn’t help thinking, as silence filled the cottage and pulled him backwards into sleep, that it was a terrible shame; that everyone deserved the kind of pleasure that rushed through them, untamed and uncontrollable.

Femslash February 2021, where I decided one entry needed to not only be a drabble (100 words exactly) like every other day's prompt, but ALSO a sonnet:

A princess resides in a castle fair Who Stevie beholds when sneaking ashore— With aquamarine eyes and golden hair, She’s all that Stevie is so longing for. If she had legs, or the princess a tail, Perhaps Stevie could be part of her world— But fate's harsh currents their union assails, Separating them with an eddy's whirl. So Stevie lingers, and watches, and dreams About a union between sea and land, Wishing it weren't as complex as it seems For them to lie together on the sand. But unbeknownst, a princess dreams, too— Of a raven-haired mermaid, pure and true.

And all the rest's illusion, the fic where Patrick works through his feelings about the word queer and every single comment made me cry:

And that’s really the crux of the issue, because it’s not that he’s uncomfortable in his sexuality. If he was, that would be easier to explain — right from the start, David never put a label onto him. Patrick was the one who’d whispered I’m gay into the sliver of space between them that night at Stevie’s, and David had just given him the same easy smile and nod that Patrick’s sure he would have received if instead his declaration had been I’m bi or I’m pan or I don’t know right now. His discomfort is more of a nagging, deep-seated fear that he’s not entitled to queer; that because he’s never been called a slur or worried about whether or not it was safe to kiss his partner in public or even come out to his parents, the word isn’t his to reclaim.

I haven't met the new me yet, the fic where I just dragged everyone onto the Jake/Rachel train with me by force, no I don't care that they never met in canon:

Despite herself, her eyes keep finding her way back to one of the pool players. He’s tall and well-built, with a close-cropped beard; he carries himself easily, joking with his friend, the flannel shirt stretching across his back as he lines up his next shot. When he stands up after sinking the ball easily, he turns around too quickly for Rachel to pretend she was looking elsewhere and their eyes meet. The smile he gives her isn’t quite cocky, though it’s close; it’s just confident, and confidence has always done something for her. She smiles back before picking up her beer, draining the last of it and trying not to grin around the neck of the bottle when his eyes drop to her throat as she does. She’d forgotten how good it can feel, to flirt with a stranger across a… okay, this isn’t exactly a crowded room, but still. Across a room. She doesn’t make any secret of watching as the guy and his friend finish up the game, the one she’s watching sinking the black easily with several of the stripes still on the table, and he hands his cue to his friend before striding over to the bar and leaning over to get the bartender’s attention.

Meet me out at the end of my rope, aka angstapalooza. The outline @ships-to-sail gave me for the end of chapter three just read "David leaves after possibly the most tender but heart wrenching kiss they’ve ever had, that’s ever been written, ever, in the history of written kissing" and then I had to... write that???

Patrick puts the box down gently before he holds his hand out. When David places the key in his palm Patrick wraps his fingers around David’s, their palms pressed together. Despite everything, it still feels like coming home; before he quite realises what he’s doing he presses Patrick back into the doorframe, his free hand wrapping around Patrick’s neck as he pours all the emotion swirling around inside him into one final kiss. Patrick, for his part, tugs David in close, his fingers winding through David’s hair as he shakes under David’s touch. When David finally pulls away he can see Patrick’s cheeks are wet with tears, and he knows his are too. He doesn’t know if they’re his own or Patrick’s or both. Patrick stares at him, his tone helpless. “You’re the love of my life, David Rose.” David closes his eyes as his resolve almost breaks. When he opens them again, Patrick’s face is blurry and indistinct in front of him as he tries not to let more tears fall. “No one is ever going to love me the way you did.” The words are choked out, but when Patrick opens his mouth to reply David shakes his head to stop him. “But no one ever lied to me like you did, either.”

How much love will you happily take -- I apparently awakened a humiliation kink in multiple people with this one and I will never not be proud of that 🤣

“No, that’s not— it’s not for lack of trying.” David being so kind about this is making it ten times harder to spit the words out and he drops his gaze, picking at Stevie’s faded bedspread so he doesn’t have to see the look in David’s eyes. He can feel the all-too-familiar crackle of humiliation crawling up his spine, knows his embarrassment is clear on his face, and it makes his throat tighten and his stomach clench and his cock twitch and he hates it, loves it, wants to poke at it like a bruise until it consumes him. “It’s been, um, a size issue?” There’s a beat, and then David is placing a gentle finger under his chin and turning Patrick to face him. His face is warm and open and Patrick likes him so much it’s kind of terrifying; he desperately needs this night not to end up another disaster.  “That,” David says, voice soft, “is only an issue if we make it an issue. And I don’t plan on making it an issue.”

Wearing glass slippers, I got my Chucks, the Stevie/Alexis tattoo/flower shop AU my beloved:

“Did people send you flowers when your aunt passed away?” Alexis asks pointedly.  “Yeah.” She doesn’t say, It was a huge pain in the ass, actually, because I had to throw them all out when they died, but from the look Alexis is giving her at least some of that must show on her face.  “Congratulations and commiserations,” she says slowly. “That’s when everyone wants to give flowers: births, deaths, weddings, anniversaries. It’s like, human nature or whatever. There’s something…” she takes a deep breath. “It’s a sign of trust, I think. To be a tiny part of someone’s biggest moments like that. Even if just from the sidelines.” Stevie has tattooed children’s names and wedding bands, handprints and pawprints and important dates. She’s never thought about it quite like that before. “I get that,” she murmurs. 

Great Acoustics, aka the cast did a Zoom thing in-character during Covid and had a throwaway line to justify David and Patrick not being in the same room and I just entered a fugue state and wrote porn about it in like an hour:

They make it ten days before their first noise complaint, which is frankly about nine days longer than David expected. They’ve been worse than usual, to be fair, with something as simple as a lockable door apparently now an aphrodisiac to both of them. Patrick goes about twelve shades of red when the official notice is pushed under their door, and then the pillow makes a reappearance.  It’s all very fucking hot, actually, seeing buttoned-up, in-control Patrick reduced to a whimpering, begging, uncontrollable mess. Eventually, David manages to convince him that if something must go in his mouth during sex, there are several better options. No, not that. Well, obviously, sometimes that.

A focused moment made, kinkverse part one that I very much intended to be a oneshot lmfao RIP

For a few moments, the only sound is their combined harsh breathing as they recover. Almost before David realises what’s happening he’s being pulled gently to his feet, and then Patrick is framing David’s face in his hands and kissing him soundly. And David’s been kissed a lot during a scene, and a few times before one, but never once has someone kissed him in a sex club after they’ve already come. He lets out a startled but not unhappy yelp and Patrick takes the opportunity to plunge his tongue into David’s now-open mouth, chasing the taste of himself, making them both groan. Finally Patrick releases him with one last, almost chaste, kiss. He drops one hand but leaves the other on David’s cheek, gazing carefully at him, his face soft and open. “I’ve never done that before, with a guy,” Patrick confesses after a moment of silence.  David raises an eyebrow, quirks a lip. “The flogging or the blowjob?” “Uh,” Patrick scratches the back of his head as he flushes slightly. “Both? But also, um.” His eyes flicker down to David’s lips and back up, and David gives a soft little Oh of understanding.  “Baby dom and baby gay, huh?”

Your heart is keeping time with me, the 50 First Dates AU that I think has the best ending I've ever written? So, uh, spoilers-ish, I guess:

This isn’t a romantic comedy. There will be no miraculous, medically impossible recovery. Every morning for the rest of his life, David will wake up and have to be told that he has a husband he doesn’t recognise; a husband who loves him. But after he’s been told, Patrick will set out to prove it to him, with laughter and music and patient understanding. And because love is so much more than conscious memory, David will go to sleep each night in Patrick’s arms, safe and secure and content. Even though it’s not a film or a fairytale, they will still live happily ever after.

Other

We always walked a very thin line, aka the fic I furiously spite-wrote in three hours after watching Happiest Season lmfao:

When they were little, they were convinced if they practised enough they could develop some sort of psychic link; talk to each other over long distances without tying up the phone lines their dads always used for important business calls. They gave up eventually, but Riley finds herself desperately wishing for the talent now. Come on, Harper. Be braver for her than you were for me. “She’s lying!” The words burst hysterically out of Harper’s mouth, and Riley’s heart sinks.

We knew we were the fortunate ones, because obviously I watched episode 3 of The Last Of Us and immediately started writing, what do you take me for?

He knows that the last four years have been kinder to him than to almost anyone else; he also knows that he doesn’t look like those men in the magazines, the ones he used to drive thirty miles out of his way to buy, shoulders hunched and not making eye contact with the store clerk in case he found himself subjected to judgement — or worse, conversation.

[firenati0n]

fic pride friday! :D

thank you @kiwiana-writes for the tag! this is by far my favorite tag game, not only to get to see everyone else's bits that they're most proud of but also to check in with my own writing versus the LAST time I did this challenge and what's changed. thank you thank you! it's always a pleasure to read your words <3

Rules: Post your favourite line or passage from as many of your published works as you’d like. Let yourself feel proud of your creations! Tag as many people as you post snippets, so your fellow fic friends can be proud, too.

Tags: I CANNOT STRESS HOW !OPEN TAG! THIS IS BUT ALSO: @wordsofhoneydew @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @msmarvelouswinchester @nocoastposts

@firenati0n @daisymae-12 @read-and-write- @magicandarchery

@affectionatelyrs @happiness-of-the-pursuit @inexplicablymine @heysweetheart-writes

@littlemisskittentoes @sparklepocalypse @getmehighonmagic @firstsprinces

@priincebutt @cricketnationrise @eusuntgratie @bigassbowlingballhead

@whimsymanaged @anchoredarchangel @captainjunglegym @thinkof-england

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from How To Get Blood Stains Out of Your Linen (And Other Ways To Fall in Love):

Henry doesn’t wonder. He mourns. He grieves for things that haven’t even happened yet, for the happiness that he assumes he might’ve had if he’d been brave enough to reach out and grab it with his shaking, stained hands.

+

from somehow I'd get by:

They start with dinner. Watching Alex cook for him has always been somewhat of a spiritual experience but tonight, perched on the countertop with Alex between his legs, feeding him a taste of each and every ingredient, like he’s hardwired to want Henry to be a part of his routines and his hobbies and his life, it feels like even more.   The first few buttons of Henry’s shirt have been undone, the heat from the stove beside them making his skin pleasantly warm. Alex’s own sleeves have been rolled up to his forearms, his tie long gone somewhere by the front door, both of their shoes with it. Henry tucks a socked foot around his calf and draws him in even closer, stealing a kiss that tastes like Saffron and the wine from the Spanish market downtown, the wooden spoon forgotten between them.  It’s curious how the day just seems to tumble on, the eve ning elongated as if the minutes have doubled themselves. Somehow it still isn’t enough time with Alex, and Henry finds himself surprised once more at how he physically misses him, even when he’s close enough to reach out and touch. He’s oddly aware of the space between his rib cage, the gaps and vessels surrounding the marrow, an emptiness he’d never cared to notice before. Behind them though, his heart is wonderfully full.  As if he knows the feeling, Alex never strays too far from him. Not when they finish up the food and move to the dining table to eat, not when he tugs Henry so close he’s practically on his lap, feeding him by hand and then with his own set of cutlery, sharing the same plate. The vacancies fill up with the food, wine, and Alex’s sweet words, piece by piece, a lifetime of inadequacy replaced with love instead.

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from Something Borrowed, Something Blue:

(I had to try to find a non-spoilery one jsdhkjhfk)

“It’s the southern charm,” Alex argues, still a bit in shock. “It’s irresistible.”  “It’s you,” Henry corrects him softly. “And I wouldn’t trade out a single thing about you. Your honesty or your energy or your words.”  “But your words are important. You always think through everything you say before you say it. And mine just— just come out like David’s vomit.” Henry laughs quietly beside him. “And sometimes I can tell that I should stop but I just keep going.”   “That doesn’t make your words any less important,” Henry says. “You know how to speak your mind. There’s a lot of people that don’t. It doesn’t make you too much or annoying. If anything, it means that you’re brave.”  Alex snorts lightly. “If I’m brave, then what are you?” He glances sideways at Henry. “Untouchable?”  “Terrified.”  The breath Alex had been halfway through taking halts in his lungs. Henry’s eyes are wide and so blue underneath the moonlight, a shade Alex hasn’t seen them yet before. He rushes to take it all in, committing the look to memory— Henry here, in his space, trying to speak a language Alex understands. 

+

from treading water in the deep, just waiting for the tides to meet:

Alex writes about forgiveness a lot, especially on the days when he mourns for the once clean, normal mark he used to have. Sometimes he thinks about how simple things could have been. The fairytale story that he’d wanted so badly as a kid, had prayed for beside his bed at night and wished for with every shooting star that passed overhead.  But with every stroke of the pencil on the page his eyes fall to the skin just above where he’s holding it, the intricate pattern of the scarring tha t Alex knows he could draw accurately even in his sleep. He’s memorized it with his fingertips, with his eyes, with his lips. It’s a part of his person, so it’s a part of him, too.  And Alex has never been particularly good at self love, always moving too quickly and trying to make his family and friends proud, thoughtlessly making sacrifices at his own expense if it meant that some of the burden was taken off of someone else. By the same token, he’s always given love freely.  It comes as no surprise to him when he first says it, whispered against the gap in the line, right next to the jagged edge of where one end of the line has broken through his skin. He writes it in the notebooks, thinks it in his head: I love you.  Two years passes and with every day, Alex realizes he loves himself a little more too. 

+

from there were pages turned with the bridges burned (everything you lose is a step you take):

Back in his room, he locks the door behind him and walks over to his desk, everything mostly left untouched from before he’d gone to the hospital. He hasn’t been able to go through it yet, to see the evidence that he was healthy and capable of excelling at things that, at least right now, he couldn’t dream of doing. Not at the same level, anyway.  Blinking harshly, he takes his lower lip into his mouth and finds the list of resolutions he’d pinned to his corkboard above it, not one of them marked off yet. There’s no way he could have predicted what this year would have brought.  Gently, he takes the thumbtacks out of their spots at the corners and folds up the paper, slipping it into a drawer. Then he retrieves the packet of skittles and pins them up in its place.  One day at a time, Alex thinks. 

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from I want you to have me like I've never been had, you get all my wild parts:

Gently, Henry presses forward into him again, lets himself appreciate the way it feels when he’s not busy chasing his own release. Alex sighs sweetly and widens his legs a bit, his fingers still achingly soft, dancing across Henry’s shoulder blade.  It really, really shouldn’t be this easy. Not the dynamic, but— Alex.   Henry stares at him, most likely cross-eyed for how close he is but uncaring at the moment, tracing a fingertip through Alex’s drying curls, down the slope of his nose, his top lip, the smile line carved into his cheek. Marvels at the way Alex lets him.  He wants to bathe in it. Wants to keep it locked up just as much as he wants to show it off. Wants to care for it—care for him, wants to round up anyone who’s ever had the pleasure of seeing Alex this way and rip the memory from their greedy, ungrateful, undeserving hands.  Keep it for himself instead, where it’s beginning to feel like it belongs. 

+

from avalanche:

“Love is patient, love is kind,” Alex murmurs, the scripture replaying clearly in his head— el amor es paciente, es bondadoso. His grandmother's words, then his father’s, now his own, translating them from the way he learned them so that Henry can understand. He presses his lips to Henry’s jaw, solidifies them there. “It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.” El amor no es envidioso ni presumido ni orgulloso. He slides a hand over the little scar on Henry’s shoulder, touches it tenderly with his fingertips, only a fraction of the pain he’s endured. “It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.” Henry’s tears wet his cheek when he emphasizes them here; no se comporta con rudeza, no es egoísta, no se enoja fácilmente, no guarda rencor. “Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.” El amor no se deleita en la maldad, sino que se regocija con la verdad. “It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.” Todo lo disculpa, todo lo cree, todo lo espera, todo lo soporta. Reaching down to fill in the gaps between Henry’s fingers with his own, Alex pulls back enough to look at him properly. Henry’s always kind of taken his breath away, but Alex can see the shift happening in real time— how every word, each passing minute that he spends here, finally where he wants to be, is recharging him. And how much of a marvel is it that where he wants to be is with Alex?  Henry leaving had felt like an ending at first. The conclusion of a year long fever dream in which all of his own fears and desires had been finally recognized and tested to their limits. No matter what Henry had chosen to do in the end, he’d changed Alex for the better. The proof was all there, written in fine print for the world to see. Alex would have been okay, eventually, just knowing that.  But now he can see that it hadn’t been an ending at all. All of the cracks in Henry’s shiny, practiced, impenetrable exterior are crumbling; shattered first with Henry’s valiant initial swing, the excess gently peeled away with Alex’s fingertips. It’s visible now, everywhere that he’d left his mark on Henry. Everywhere that he’d poured just as much into him as Henry had into Alex.  He’s always been capable. But Alex knows, just as much as Henry hopefully does now, that sometimes it’s difficult to get past the litany of weaknesses until someone finally comes along and recognizes them for strengths instead.  “El amor jamás se extingue,” he whispers against Henry’s knuckles, his own eyes blurry. “I forgave you a long time ago, amor.”  

+

from it's so hard to get to heaven with my head in my hands:

Henry leans forward to set it aside before he seals himself further into George’s side, an arm propped behind his back as he strokes his knuckles over Alex’s cheek. George turns away to allow them a moment to themselves, but it doesn’t rid him of the intimacy of it all from his position right in the center of it, especially as Alex moves closer, his own fingers dropping to move some of the hair from George’s forehead where it’d fallen haphazardly into his eyes.  It takes George even longer to find his voice again, nothing but a rasp when he summons the courage to insert himself into their familiar back and forth.  “Why are you doing this?”  Henry halts whatever he’d been about to say, dropping his gaze down to George in between them. “We take care of each other,” he says.  “Hen has a lot of days like this too,” Alex adds from his other side, his thumb stroking soothingly over George’s brow. “We’re glad you came, George.”  His mother would have a fit if she could see him now, taking comfort he isn’t owed from men he shouldn’t want it from. But Henry wipes his tears with the back of his hand and Alex begins singing the dulcet tune of a Spanish lullaby and George feels, perhaps for the first time in his life, like he belongs. 

+

xx

[firenati0n]

Thanks for the tag @anincompletelist ! I’ve never played this one before 💫🤍

Rules: Post your favourite line or passage from as many of your published works as you’d like. Let yourself feel proud of your creations! Tag as many people as you post snippets, so your fellow fic friends can be proud, too.

beneath the cut because I’m wordy as hell oops.

From No Consequences:

If Alex revisits the metaphor about his brain at the best of times, this is the moment where the toddler holding the flipbook exchanges their sugar addiction for straight cocaine. The good stuff. High quality. This is Alex’s brain on drugs.

From Hope is a Five-Alarm Fire:

Alex stares at him without blinking the way other people probably look at renaissance art: like magnificence beyond the scope of words, a pinnacle of creation, something meant to be kept pristine, locked away from the ruining touch of the masses. Except he’s putting his filthy fucking hands all over it, leaving smudging fingerprints behind. And the art likes it. 

From The Cosmos in His Palms:

Alex thinks about Henry, about pulling the stars from the sky just to tuck them carefully in Henry's chest beside his heart to keep him company, so he'd never have to look for them again; about what Alex would be willing to do to put the cosmos in his palms.  He’d do the impossible. He’d defy the gods that put them there. 

From The Throne He Deserves:

Who kisses Alex like he’s the water in the desert and he doesn’t care if it’s a mirage so long as he doesn’t die in pain, and who fucks him like it might be worth the pain of dying just to do it again and again. 

From The Wait Before the Fall:

“This is not all that I am,” Henry tells him, turning back to the statue, something tumultuous in him settling, going just as still as the museum air. “Not anymore.” He looks up, that beautiful, defiant tilt to his chin; not to the man being crushed, but at the plaster of the woman—head draped in a lion’s skin, club in hand, kneeling on the shield in victory. Valour and Cowardice: Valour.

From A Spark and Flash Paper:

In a rare moment of courage, he does the latter. He chooses himself. No bloody consequences.

From A Sin Better Than Heaven:

“Imagine how I will feel to your cock,” he says boldly, and Alexander meets his eyes; the brown all but eclipsed by a full moon of darkness.  “I will not,” he murmurs, “because I intend to know with certainty.”

From The Very Portrait of Temptation:

Alexander’s mouth slows, a kiss longer and deeper and felt in every nook of him—the king's tongue sliding expertly past Henry's teeth, like a dagger through the widening crack in what remains of Henry's armor. This—it is everything, and everything that it is is enough to drive men to madness beyond the point of hysteria, enough to lose what remains of his wits, enough to foolishly hope for an unlikely change of fate. One where he is not a deceitful seducer, but rather a trusted confidante. One where he is even, perhaps, an actual lover, true as North.  A beautiful agony, most mad indeed. 

my tumbling has been iffy lately and I’m not sure who has already played—so if you see this and you haven’t posted one yet, here’s an open tag from me to you 💌

but also @firenati0n when you’re back I want to see!

[firenati0n]

fic pride

Rules: Post your favourite line or passage from as many of your published works as you’d like. Let yourself feel proud of your creations! Tag as many people as you post snippets, so your fellow fic friends can be proud, too.

thank you for the tags @anincompletelist and @firenati0n

(no pressure) pressure tags to : @cha-melodius @whimsymanaged @cricketnationrise @alasse9 @sherryvalli @nocoastposts

reading back at my work has only reminded me how proud and happy i am with the fics i have written, and i hope y’all enjoy them just as much as i do!!

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stolen glances with a string attached

Henry isn’t completely conscious of the fact that he is borderline stalking now, having been captivated by this man’s beauty. Even with the fair amount of distance between their office windows, Henry could still distinguish the prominent shadows cast on his cheeks from his eyelashes, and the sharp line of his jaw clenching every now and then. His skin seemed to glow exquisitely under the morning sun; looking practically magical against the gray of the city landscape.  That’s when the other man notices Henry, catching him in his trance for a split second before Henry turns his head to look down at the keyboard in front of him. That was close , he thinks to himself before slowly turning his head to look back at the window. And to his misfortune, the man is looking right back at him; his eyes squint, his perfectly sculpted eyebrows furrow, and his face is wearing an expression as if to say caught you. And he’s not wrong. Henry’s eyes widen, his body tensing up in sheer humiliation. That’s when he sees a sly smirk make its way to the man’s lips, and it only makes the embarrassment course through his body more rapidly, feeling all the blood rush to his cheeks. The man then spins around in his office chair, reaching for what looks to be a piece of paper and a pen. He scribbles on it for a swift moment before pressing the paper up against his office window. The paper reads, “TAKE A PIC,” written in sloppy, bubble-like handwriting just barely legible enough for Henry to read.  The man grabs another paper and writes for a moment longer, this time reading, “JK” with a winky face. Henry cocks an inquisitive eyebrow in his direction, the embarrassment slowly morphing into curiosity as the man turns the paper over for Henry to read the other side. “ALEX.”

+

your body comes back to me in dreams [nsfw]

He comes back to himself in increments, the places where they’re touching becoming lighter and colder, and his vision softening around the edges. Henry grabs the other man’s shoulder with a vice grip, wanting to laze in the gratification of their love. He surges forward to kiss him again, desperate to feel the warmth of his body, but he feels almost nothing. Henry pulls away resentfully, in search of brown eyes that bear unwavering devotion—but they’re gone, replaced by nothing, and he is faced with the iciness of the man’s absence. 

+

i became your device to name and soothe

June blushes violently and whispers, “It’s not the same when I do it to myself.” The air is eerily silent for a beat, and June hates everything that is coming out of her mouth right now.  Nora’s face goes almost stoic, serious, but the sparkle of interest in her eyes never falters. “Tell me why.” “What?” “Tell me why it isn’t the same.” June stares back at her staggered, at a complete loss of what to say, or how to say it. June has never had to explain the reasoning behind why she likes spanking. Hell, she’s never really thought about it in depth herself. Knowing that it brings her euphoric pleasure is enough acknowledgement for her.  “Well… I guess it has to do with the attention and— uh, being taken care of is part of it, too.” She chews on her lips subconsciously, looking down at her lap. “I see,” Nora trails off, thinking deliberately before saying: “I can help you. Only if you’re comfortable with that of course.” Nora places her hand on June’s knee, it’s a comforting sentiment more than anything, and June realizes that she really does mean to help. Not in the exact way June wishes she would, but she’ll take what she can get at this point. “Okay.” “Really? “I trust you, Nora.” “Yeah, of course. I trust you too.” June tries to swallow down the knot in her throat before speaking again, “It’ll be like, nonsexual, platonic—“ “Like a massage.” Nora’s expression is unreadable, the same face she makes when she’s in the middle of coding a script or calculating how many red bulls her body can tolerate without a wink of sleep in three days. Like a project she’s undoubtedly going to excel at. It makes June squirm in her seat. “I’m not an expert, so you’ll have to give me some… guidance.” God. What has June gotten herself into?

+

What are the chances? [nsfw]

“This what you wanted?” Nora whispers on her navel, kissing and licking up to the sweat that has begun to form between her breasts. The position of Nora’s fingers remain hooked inside of her, massaging repeatedly at her sweet spot, and June is seeing fucking stars. Her chest pushes into Nora’s face, giving her full permission to abuse them with her mouth. Instead Nora pulls back, laying her hand flat on June’s chest to settle her back onto the bed again. She gives a light slap to one of her breasts. “How does it feel? You were so desperate for it earlier, huh, baby? So, tell me how it feels.” June is unable to speak for a moment, her jaw slacked with no sound escaping. Her head is buzzing and her legs are trembling from how much stimulation her body is receiving. “Feels— oh fuck, ” she huffs, “feels so good, Nora. Please, don’t stop.” Nora unties one of her wrists, still maintaining the consistent rhythm of her hand. Once free, June immediately reaches out to touch her face; running her thumb over Nora’s eyebrow, cheekbones and then her lips, feeling how soft and plump they are. Nora takes that as an invitation to kiss June again, this time with a more deliberate, loving touch—she can taste a bit of herself on Nora’s tongue. 

[firenati0n]

fic pride friday

yeah it's not friday idc idc thank you to @kiwiana-writes @anincompletelist @anchoredarchangel for the tags <3

Rules: Post your favourite line or passage from as many of your published works as you’d like. Let yourself feel proud of your creations! Tag as many people as you post snippets, so your fellow fic friends can be proud, too.

i only have 7 fics so I'm using snips from all of them...maybe this will motivate me...hoping it helps :)

snips below the cut so it's not a pain on your dash lol. also they're in order of posting, so if you haven't read something just scroll on by lol:

from our world, mine and his alone (the midnight train to go) aka cracky brain worm fic:

In a poorly executed non sequitur, he settled to comment on the first thing he could think of. Fatal error.  Deep breath in. “By the way. Digging the cardigan, Henry. Very…” He rifled through his extensive vocab for literally any appropriate adjective. Refined? Boring. Professional? Practical, but also boring.   “Very…?” Henry raised an eyebrow, long fingers wrapped around a cup of tea. Earl Grey, Henry had said a while ago, but Alex couldn't be sure. He had been terribly distracted by said fingers, wondering where else those fingers could— What Alex’s distracted, useless worms in his left temporal lobe decided to supply him with as a response was: “Slutty-English-Literature-professor core.” Alex was going to jump off the train. He was going to change his name. He was going to get a lobotomy, as a treat. 

+

from An Amateur's Guide to Piping That Cream and Beating That Meat aka thirst trap tiktok au:

and my favorite part is the end when henry makes a bold ass move on alex through an old tiktok comment while he's sat across from him LMFAOOOO king shit:

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from each time we touch / i wanna take too much aka fingers in mouths dreamy fic:

Eyes still closed, Henry kisses Alex's thumb, a soft touch, and Alex sucks in a sharp breath. He presses his thumb inside for a second, resting it on Henry's tongue. Henry's eyes open, slow and steady, and he grasps Alex's hand gently, pulling his thumb out and wrapping his long pale fingers around Alex's index and middle finger instead; pulls them into his mouth, closing his lips around Alex's digits. Alex lets out a stuttered gasp as he leans into the touch, his fingers sliding in a little deeper. The sound of his shaky exhale sits for a second, heavy in the silence. The air around them crackles. There's a weight on Alex's chest, pressing and pressing and pressing, until he can barely get a breath in or out within the inches of shared space between him and Henry. Henry swirls his tongue around Alex's fingers, and his eyes are clear as ever as they bore into Alex, a challenge. And who is Alex to deny him anything?

+

from keep me up all night / i wanna scratch your surface aka lovely prose all over fic:

Alex is determined to give him the world, even if it’s narrowed down to a strip of smooth skin just below Henry’s clavicle, a constellation of purple and red hues littered in places no one can see, in spots wandering eyes can’t reach. Alex’s heart pouring out of his mouth, sliding past his tongue and right onto Henry’s skin, the universe contained in Henry’s rib cage that protects the air they share in impassioned exhales and the heartbeat that intertwines with Alex’s when they’re like this; a sacred harmony of bodies and spaces. He’ll never tire of this.

and also this:

Alex does his worst, and then some; a reminder that they get to have this. It’s theirs, and it’s the universe in Henry’s ribcage, and it’s the moonlight reflected in Alex’s eyes, and it’s the world narrowed down to bruises on a pale canvas and bite marks on golden skin. Marks that they can run delicate fingertips over, press into with devotion; tucked away for safekeeping in the morning, their starkness harsh in the sunlight. There are no eyes worthy of Henry in the daytime.

+

from cause you're classic, and i'm reckless aka ryan gosling / rachel mcadams inspired actor au:

When Alex was called up for his award, he felt himself go right back to where he was on day one of rehearsals—transparent, with his heart on his sleeve and voice a little wobbly. Being recognized for his accomplishments felt so novel, so intense, so foreign. After fighting tooth and nail to proudly sport his biracial and bisexual identity, he was thrilled to be accepted for who he was, and told he was good enough for the masses, his intersectionality a standout and not something to hide; good enough for Henry as a costar, holding his own opposite an industry darling. He couldn’t keep the tremor out of his voice as he accepted his trophy, thanking everyone for their hard work on this movie, the studio for backing a movie about unapologetic queer love, and Henry for being his faithful guide and cheerleader in a new landscape for Alex, giving him space to be his authentic self free of judgment and fear of failure. He’s so, so grateful for this. He will never stop being grateful; after pouring his heart and soul into this movie, he got so much back in return, and then some. He’s completely rearranged, made up of brand new parts next to his old, rusty ones; a patchwork heart beating erratically yet earnestly, hands that have traversed new spaces and swaths of skin, people pouring themselves back into him and sanding down the rough parts, caressing the scared ones. Alex feels not just reborn, but also like the person he always was deep down, just waiting to have a chance to emerge with all his heart to show for it.

+

from who truly stuck the knife in first aka spy au aka sexually charged wrestling:

Alex averts his gaze, rolling onto his back to gaze at the cracks in the ceiling. The thing is. The thing is, Alex doesn’t know where the fuck to go from here. Between the barbs and the knives and the tension and the rolling around on the floor and the bed in a sexually frustrated heap, Alex didn’t take a second to consider he could have this, could have Henry in a way that mattered. Now that it's just within reach, he's scared it's going to slip away from his fingers and into the night if he holds on too tight, wants too much. He’s spared the need to respond by the sound of a crackle coming from Henry's laptop, then clothes rustling as someone groans. Manu’s bug is up and running, the man probably fielding a killer hangover and hazy memories of Alex and unbuttoned shirts and hands wrapped around throats. Alex clears his throat, scraping away any remnants of lingering affection. “Back to work, Foxy,” he says with a cheeky grin. Before he can help himself, though, he leans into Henry, planting a sweet kiss on his parted lips. Henry sighs into him, cupping his cheek with a tenderness Alex hasn't felt in a long while. He tastes like a future Alex dreams of having one day. For now, that's enough. It has to be.

+

from and all i can taste is this moment, and all i can breathe is your life aka angel!henry fic aka city of angels au with a happy ending:

Henry forges on, the words pouring out of him, spilling all over the cliffside for Alex to see. “It is a sin worth committing, a fruit worth eating—at least I’ll get to taste you. You will never be a lapse in my judgment. You are my salvation, through you I get to reclaim myself. Isn’t that beautiful, isn’t that everything you’ve taught me about life and love and humanity?” Alex gazes at him, mouth slightly agape, taking in Henry’s impassioned words. Alex has spent his life fighting for others, extending himself beyond his limits. Now it’s Henry’s turn. “Darling, I’ve spent years, centuries even, pondering the question of what makes you human, what sits in your core. After all this time, the answer is unchanging—it’s love. Love, and care, and the unflinching determination of the human condition. With this, with you, I’ve experienced the absolutely soul-crushing realization that our hearts are built to endure when you have hope.” Henry’s voice wavers a bit, but he presses forward, determined to make the words land. “You are my hope, the hope I never thought I’d get to have, the hope I never thought I deserved to keep. With you, I want to endure.”

xoxo roop

open tag but also some no pressure tags : @wordsofhoneydew @cha-melodius @cricketnationrise @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @whimsymanaged

@nontoxic-writes @alasse9 @ships-to-sail @leaves-of-laurelin @myheartalivewrites

@sherryvalli @ninzied @rmd-writes @suseagull04 @inexplicablymine

[firenati0n]

⭐️⭐️⭐️

[firenati0n]

i know it’s been said before, but it bears repeating: a big, big part of maintaining your confidence & self esteem as a creator is fully embracing the concept of “you don’t have to be good like them.  you can be good like you.”

for example, i’m not someone who’s particularly good at coming up with complex, elaborate plots or incredibly unique ideas.  it’s just not how i choose to write.  and it would be easy for me to look at someone with an elaborate, super unique plot & decide that because i don’t write like that, i’m not a good writer.  after all, unique plots are good, and my writing lacks those, so my writing must not be good, right?  well, no, actually.  i just have different strengths, like taking a simple premise & digging super deep into its emotional depths.  that’s what i do well & it isn’t any better or worse than people who do elaborate world building or come up with really creative and unexpected plots.

your writing is never going to be all things to all people.  it just isn’t.  inevitably, you’ll have to make creative choices that favor certain aspects of writing over others.  there is truly no getting around that & it’s honestly a good thing, because it means you’ve developed your own style.  but you’ll always encounter other creators who posses strengths that you don’t.  it doesn’t mean one is better than the other or that your writing isn’t good enough. 

comparing yourself like that would be like taking a piece of pizza & a cupcake & going “oh no, that cupcake is so sweet & my pizza isn’t sweet at all.” or “gosh, the garlic crust on that pizza is delicious and my cupcake doesn’t have ANY garlic.”  obviously your pizza isn’t sweet.  obviously your cupcake doesn’t have garlic.  a food can’t have every single delicious flavor at once.  the cupcake is good like a cupcake.  the pizza is good like a pizza.  so you don’t have to be good like them.  you can be good like you.

[firenati0n]

20 questions for fic writers

thank you to @alasse9 @anchoredarchangel @myheartalivewrites @anincompletelist @cricketnationrise

@tailsbeth-writes @cha-melodius @ninzied for the tags! i am so so so behind on all tags and questions and asks and i am sorry for the delay!! <3 thank you for your patience :)

How many works do you have on ao3?

7 under my name, 1 anonymously

What's your total ao3 word count?

32,316

What fandoms do you write for?

rwrb :)

Top five fics by kudos:

An Amateur's Guide to Piping That Cream and Beating That Meat (5,094 words)

our world, mine and his alone (the midnight train to go) (2,970 words)

cause you're classic, and i'm reckless (5,422 words)

each time we touch / i wanna take too much (1,339 words)

who truly stuck the knife in first (3,697 words)

Do you respond to comments?

yes! i haven't replied to any on angel fic yet bc they make me cry LMAOOOO but i will get to them soon :) comments mean everything to me. receiving any is a privilege. connection is so lovely.

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

i would say who truly stuck the knife in first but it's not angsty, just open-ended. they're spies, so happiness for them at the moment is fleeting lol.

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

i always write happy endings but i think and all i can taste is this moment, and all i can breathe is your life aka the angel!henry fic is the sappiest. it's so sappy I'm giving it a sequel for more sappy endings. it's the happiest ending because it also makes me cry.

Do you get hate on fics?

not yet, thankfully. people have been very nice and welcoming, which has been a real blessing.

Do you write smut?

no lol i got into my M game with who truly stuck the knife in first (sexually charged wrestling), keep me up all night / i wanna scratch your surface (prosey fade to black), and each time we touch / i wanna take too much (fingers in mouths) but i don't think I'll be writing smut anytime soon.

i could barely handle arms and legs in spy fic (@cha-melodius knows how terribly i struggled jfalksdjflkjasdlkf). how the fuck am I supposed to factor dicks into the equation????

Craziest crossover:

none yet but i am cooking up a sci-fi thriller au that may never see the light of day based on Dark Matter by Blake Crouch but no promises jfalksjdlkfadsf

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

not that i know of

Have you ever had a fic translated?

not that i know of. I've had art and moodboards and a podfic but no translations.

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

i am writing one right now with [redacted] and it's going to be so fucking good y'all are not prepared for this AU fr

All time favorite ship?

firstprince forever. alex and henry are my babygirls. Close second is Sydney and Vaughn from Alias or Chuck and Sarah from Chuck.

What's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

i have a lot of docs with bullet points but typically if i start WRITING real words in a doc, i will be finishing it EVENTUALLY. it will either take me 4 months or 4 hours and there is no in between unfortunately, considering i write most of my fics between the hours of 2am - 7am in a fugue state. fatal flaw. all of my docs with actual snippets in them WILL be completed at some point. it's just going to take me. forever.

What are your writing strengths?

i hate perceiving shit like this bc i always think i sound like I'm blowing smoke up my own ass lmaoooo so I'll go with dialogue. i like the dialogue i write.

@anincompletelist also told me that I can "curate a VIBE and TONE like nobody’s BUSINESS" which is extremely kind (ily) and i think i agree. I do like experimenting with tone and atmosphere. I have been playing with genre and expression with each fic and i like what I've done so far.

i also just love a silly goose time fr ok i love my fun fics like amateur's guide and worm fic and actor au. they make me laugh.

What are your writing weaknesses?

i struggle to plot things out bc i get so caught up in dialogue and snippets of things i actually want to write LOL so weaving the snips together is always a pain for me. i am also a perfectionist so it takes me way longer to get over my mental hurdles and put words on the page. i also struggle to write angst sometimes like angst does not come as naturally to me as zippy banter. neither does prose. i have to work at those.

Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

love!!! i find it so beautiful.

First fandom you wrote in?

i do not count the 1d fanfic i wrote in my notes app as a mentally ill thirteen year old as actual writing, so let's go with RWRB :)

Favorite fic you've written?

and all i can taste is this moment, and all i can breathe is your life. it's my most personal and a fic I used as a coping mechanism to get through some yucky times. i also like the emotional beats in that one a lot. it is my least read / least popular but my favorite.

no pressure and open tags under the cut <3

@wordsofhoneydew @bigassbowlingballhead @eusuntgratie @violetbaudelaire-quagmire @magicandarchery

@getmehighonmagic @indestructibleheart @14carrotghoul @onward--upward @sparklepocalypse

@porcelainmortal @nontoxic-writes @piratefalls @dumbpeachjuice @clottedcreamfudge

@tintagel-or-cockleshells @orchidscript @cheesecurdsgravyandfries @smc-27 @everwitch-magiks

@kiwiana-writes @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @ships-to-sail @rmd-writes @welcometololaland

[firenati0n]

what if i just rest my eyes for a second

[firenati0n]

two mimir

[firenati0n]

Growing.

[firenati0n]

rwrb fic: (when we collide) we come together

Relationships: Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor

Summary: On New Year’s Eve in 2019, Henry never showed up to the White House Trio party and he stopped answering Alex’s texts. Six years later, he shows up at Alex’s house in Austin, adding an unexpected complication to what already promised to be one of the most complicated weekends in Alex’s life. Will this one weekend fix the mistakes of the past, or leave them worse off than they were?

Read on Ao3 HERE

But what Alex is least expecting, in the entire fucking world, is for Prince Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor to step out of the car, as if this is something they do. As if they’ve talked, since Henry just never showed up to New Year’s back in 2019 and then ghosted Alex. In something of a haze, Alex keeps walking towards his house, until he meets Henry and his PPOs in the driveway. “Your Royal Highness,” he says, something vicious inside him he’s learned to leash most of the time enjoying the minute flash of disappointment he spies in Henry’s eyes at the use of his official and utterly correct title. “It’s a surprise to see you here. What can I do for you?”

[firenati0n]

Le baiser du printemps —in the style of Alphonse Mucha

[firenati0n]

Changing my belief system from "this is the hill I'll die on" to "this is the hill I'll kill you on" has done absolute wonders for me 10/10 do recommend

[firenati0n]

dm'ing a mutual you've never interacted with one-on-one is so embarrassing like. hi.... im sorry. you can kill me if you want... can i have your discord..... if not.. feel free to shoot me down where i stand... im sorry.. i'll leave..

[firenati0n]

do you think it'll all be okay?

yeah. even if it won’t i’ve got people to love in the meantime

[firenati0n]

the scariest part about being a writer? pouring your heart and soul into this one fic that has taken literal months to piece together only to have this sick feeling in your stomach like it isn’t going to be a hit. not because it isn’t good, no, it’s worthy of a pulitzer, but just because readers won’t interact.

this is my message to my readers and all the readers out there: interact with your writer’s fics. someone can leave a seven word compliment along with a reblog on one of my stories and i’ll think about it for days. writers, good writers, have stopped writing because of the lack of feedback they get. nobody should get the amount of support to the point where they feel it’s worthless to do the thing they’re doing. 

readers. like. reblog. leave a comment.