#(which is even bigger than the WIP pile)

[asheanon]

🍵 Sometimes, I sip on some peach-y tea and think of her. (An OC I never talk about here as she's not - or used to not be - related to the blog, but... since I've been broadening my horizons a bit lately, why not? I need to draw her again so badly - as with many things - uggghhhhh... Also: ⚠️ Old, old art alert, for the picture on the left...)

Esrae loves peaches. It's a part of her identity, at this point. 🍑

I love when certain consumables remind you of your little dudes. It's like "yeahhh, channeling your energy today, my guy. Cheers, buddy." Almost makes the thing a smidge more enjoyable. 💕 (Provided you like it and it's a character you like, that is!)

[courtrecord]

On twitter sometime ago you described your writing habits as something similar to my own (slow, tedious, perfectionist, compulsive, agonizing over getting the words perfect instead of editing later, etc) And you also wrote a lot of dope things like Galactic 2E and Venture that are I hope you dont mind me saying, deeply inspirational. So coming from someone who hasnt Gotten There yet I have to ask, how do you get yourself to get up and just write the damn thing already?

omg thank u so much, that means more than i can possibly say. i wish i had a better set of advice but honestly so much of my creative work is vibes and hyperfixation based, and every time i finish something i look back on it like “how the fuck did i do that”, but here are the things that work for me. they are very much based on my own particular adhd and writing hangups so ur mileage will definitely vary.

start small: i didn’t start writing ttrpgs with big projects like venture & g2e. i started with a 200 word game, then some one-pagers, then kept growing from there. @jdragsky has talked a lot about the importance of building the skill of finishing things, and small projects are a really good way of doing that. hell, even g2e only exists bc i started with the smaller project of galactic, then went back to it a year later to build on it again.

share as u go: when i started working on bigger games, and this year as i’ve been working on longer fics, friends to share screenshots of my wip have been invaluable. that way i can get the immediate validation of someone reading my thing and giving feedback without feeling like i need to Publish it yet. biggest shoutout in the world to my friends who tolerate my writing nonsense.

write in chunks: this is kind of the combination of those first two points. bob games are big piles of little lists. i tend to write fic in short, impactful scenes. i have a wip that’s an sbr game, which is a big pile of little advances. that way, i am constantly getting that feeling of accomplishment when i write something. i can agonize over word choice and vibes and editing but then i actually get to a stopping point, where i like that little bit enough to move on to the next one. it seems crazy looking back that i wrote 36 places & 36 traits for g2e, but i didn’t just sit down and knock them all out. i wrote a few, sent them to some friends, then i wrote a few more. u know?

don’t force it: sometimes, the vibe just isn’t there. sometimes, u spend a year doing barely any writing or game design bc there’s a pandemic and ur brain doesn’t work anymore. etc. i’ve thought a lot the past few years about the difference btwn the feeling of wanting to write bc i want to write the thing, and the feeling of wanting to write bc i like the idea of being the person who wrote the thing. when i realize i’m in that second mindset, i go and think about something else. bc no good writing comes from that (at least ime)

find what u like: this is kinda related to the one above, but it’s another thing i’ve been thinking about lately. i spent a lot of time when i was younger assuming that bc i like writing, i had to write a novel, bc that’s what writers do. i would try to follow writing advice made for people who simply aren’t me. “writers must learn to use description sparingly” lol way ahead of u. that kinda thing. realizing that i love writing fanfiction for its transformativity, and i love writing dialogue bc it’s what i’m good at, was a huge revelation. i can just do that. i don’t have to follow the regular writer mold when i can just write really fucking good dialogue-heavy fanfiction. and in that realization, i’ve been able to grow as a writer by gaining the ability to write things down that i’m happy with, and grow from there.

prescription adderall: i told u this list was a mess. this one has kinda been crucial for me. i realized i had adhd in my first year of college in 2017 and started taking adderall for my second year of college in mid-2018. i started churning out creative projects in 2019. coincidence? absolutely not oh my god are u kidding

[antiquitea]

𝐖𝐈𝐏 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐘.

tagged by @swifty-fox who shared some of little beasts and kingdom for a kiss, which both currently live in my head rent free 😍

just sharing my masters of the air wips because if i shared any more than that my tumblr might implode on itself.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐰𝐚𝐲

The door to the diner opened and Gale looked up from his pile of discarded single serve creamers, stacked inelegantly on top of one another, some nested in others like a haphazard and poorly made nesting doll. It was a younger couple, Gale tracked them as perhaps being on their first date. They both look nervous, but for different reasons. The boy, hoping that he was making a good first impression, the girl, fussing with her hair which Gale could only assume was done in a style that she wasn’t accustomed to. 

So intent was he on paying attention to the teenage couple on their first date, navigating all the unwritten rules and social mores of courting, that he didn’t notice John slip into the booth across from him. 

Gale didn’t give him the satisfaction of being startled.

𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐝

John moved toward the bathroom, and stood in the doorway for a moment, letting out an appreciative sigh. In the large, claw-foot bathtub was Gale, submerged in the water and naked with the exception of his tags resting against his chest, book in one hand and a bottle of Coca Cola in the other. His blonde hair was damp, loose, not carefully styled as it normally was, pieces of it stuck to his damp forehead. His skin was almost red from how hot the water was, steam rising in tendrils from the bathtub, the steady rise and fall of his chest betraying the thundering of his heart behind his rib cage that John knew was there.

Though he had clearly taken the time to paint the image of a man nonchalant and spontaneous, John had no doubt in his mind that this was carefully crafted, specifically for him to walk in on.

𝐚𝐭 𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞, 𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 (soulmate au)

John learned of soulmates from his mama when he was young. He straddled that line between boyhood and manhood, thinking that love was gross, but also desperately infatuated with Dottie Clements at school. He sat at the dinner table, helping her peel potatoes, asking questions about her and his dad growing up as a thinly veiled way to learn more about love. Mama Egan was no fool, she knew her boy had a schoolyard crush.

“There’s something bigger than all of us out there, Johnny,” she murmured, peeling her sixth potato while John was still only his second. “One great love for every person on earth.”

“So Daddy is your great love, Mama?”

Mama Egan was silent.

John learned of soulmates from his mama when he was a boy. He learned from living life that not everyone was lucky enough to meet theirs.

𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐞 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐧 (1980s summer au)

“Johnny!”

John Egan had ignored the shouts from his mother to come inside for the last time evidently. Her voice turned into something shrill that he could hear even down by the lake, where he could normally escape all manner of ruckus that came from the cottage. It wasn’t that noisy, he supposed. But it was difficult to get a moment of peace and quiet when his whole family - his ma and dad, his sister, and himself - were all crammed into the small two bedroom space.

When they were kids, John and his sister, Billie, would bunk together in one room, at first sharing the one bed, John then eventually sleeping on the floor when he “got too long,” as his dad put it. But when one is suddenly seventeen, and the other is fourteen, bunking together isn’t on the table anymore, no matter what Ma said. John would just as soon take the couch, which he was too long to fit on comfortably anymore, in the living room, or grab a tent and camp out under the stars if the weather was nice enough.

“Johnny Egan!”

The last name was included now, it was getting serious.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

no pressure tags: @hederasgarden, @imjess-themess, @wildbornsiren, @magneticghouls, and anyone else who would like to share!

[loadedberetta]

this was supposed to be a part of a bigger plot. even an oc, but I scapped the idea, I got stuck at like 20k, with a pile of shit for a story which I will not let any of you read, like ever. (maybe in fragments but no promises)

but, these few lines deserve to make it out of wip hell

light ghoap vibes on Alone with a Reader insert

light swearing, reference to sex under the cut

11/3/2022 0030

Ghost looked outside his burrow when the wind picked up for a moment, surveying the city from above. It was one of the few radio silences he and Soap shared, while he mentored him through the city over comms. A painful jolt ran down his spine when he first realized why he was worried sick for Johnny's life.

He'd let her down. He didn't deserve her to be back in his life. When his comm crackled again, he almost flinched and expected her to address him.

"How do you know her?" Soap asked cheekily. They had just talked about alcohol, and Ghost wouldn't have minded something strong just then.

"Who?" He asked back unassumingly while reloading the silenced pistol that he stripped from the side of a dead Shadow long ago.

The mag was full, he noticed.

"Quit playing dumb, Lt." Soap's voice echoed with a smile.

"I don't know her." Ghost responded with an undertone. "I used to know her."

The line stayed silent, leaving him with some food for thought.

---

"You two definitely fucked, Lt." Soap quipped over the radio after a bland joke they shared.

"You jealous?" Ghost asked back while keeping his gaze on the entry to the vantage point of the church from above. He was trying to drown out Soap's cockiness and he actually enjoyed it for a change.

"Of you or her?" Soap didn't fail to impress. Ghost's face twitched into a grimace under his mask.

"You tell me, Johnny." He concluded the conversation.

---

The next time they talked about something meaningful was in the car, on the way out of Las Almas. Ghost had already come off the adrenaline rush the exfil gave him, and a headache started to throb at the base of his skull.

He was feeling insanely guilty that he managed to pull Johnny out, but not her all those years before. He now knew he was capable. If she was even alive just then; he left her at the Fuerzas Especiales a day ago on bedrest, surrounded by Shadows, and he hadn't heard from her since. It was almost like he cared. And it was the second time he had left her for dead. Soap was seemingly reading his mind again. They turned onto a wider road, and Soap was sitting with his boots on the dashboard, arms intertwined on his chest. Ghost's eyes snapped at him while driving when he spoke.

"D'ya think she got captured by Shadow?" Ghost's gaze met Soap's as the Scot uttered his question.

"Unlikely. She's better than that." Ghost scoffed under the mask, and turned his eyes back to look at the road. He never really admitted it to himself, but deep down he looked up to her.

"You think?"

The moon was hidden from view by a thick cloud cover.

"No." Ghost slowed to take a turn. The turn signal clicked monotone. "I know."

(a/n): yes, fragment works are my favourite type of insanity I gobble that shit up religiously so it's what y'all have to deal with from now on regarding this universe

[aristocratic-otter]

Hello everyone. I'm writing to you tonight with the feeling of sheer exultation of being the proud owner of one LESS WIP. Westward Son is now complete, after TWO FUCKING YEARS, and I'm down to six, one of which is still secret!

Thanks to the following folk for sharing their craft and joy with me over the last weeks: @wellbelesbian, @rimeswithpurple, @hushed-chorus, @whatevertheweather, @artsyunderstudy, @iamamythologicalcreature, @prettygoododds, @aroace-genderfluid-sheep, @larkral, @j-nipper-95, @cutestkilla, @nightimedreamersghost, and @alleycat0306

On with the snippets:

From To Heal A Broken Mind:

It’s five p.m. and I’m idly watching the change of shifts happening outside my office, as a break from watching the screen. He’s been in surgery for five hours now, and a standard brain surgery takes between five and seven hours. Nothing much of note has happened yet. 

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I notice a flurry of activity on the screen. The head surgeon is pointing at something he sees in Simon’s brain, and the residents and assistant surgeons are all leaning close to examine it for themselves. 

I bring both my fists down on my desk with a satisfying crash.

A moment of kindness between Simon and Baz in Stars, Flowers, and Children:

Davy listens to my accounting with grave interest, and thanks me with a clap on the back. He also gives me an extra serving of dried fruit with my supper, which is a great boon. Other than the sweets Baz and I found early on, things with sugar in them are a rare treat. Davy’s unearthed a few jars of jam, that he doles out slowly with our morning hardtack, but that and the fruit are the only sweet things he’s shown us, so far. 

He doesn’t offer Baz anything extra, but I slip Baz half of my portion when Davy’s turned away, stirring the pot of stew that’s to be the remainder of our supper.

From my Simon as a Tiktok dancer AU (how many of you have figured out that there's something odd about Simon in this AU?):

I also buy him a Big Mac, which is a bigger revelation to the kid than the entire world wide web. I’m a little worried that he’s more interested in the new food source he’s found than the teaching tool I’ve given him. 

He notices that I have to exchange money for the food we got, so the first question he asks me after he’s bolted his burger is, “how do I get some of those?” He points to the pile of change I’ve left on the table in case we decide to go back for more.

I laugh. “Well, how I got them was dancing. If you get good enough to dance for an audience, people will give you money.”

His eyes glow at that, and I wonder what I’ve started. 

And here's a little of Simon being an idiot in my CORB, The Heart In The Well:

“Say I am what you think I am,” Baz says through gritted teeth. (He is, but I’m not starting that argument again. Not when we’ve got a chance to get out of this well). “You’re an idiot, and you’re wrong, but say I was strong enough to throw you twenty metres straight up like you used to throw that blasted rubber ball. What,” and here he pauses to moisten his lips with his tongue. It is dry down here. He accentuates his necessary pause with a glare. “What makes you believe you’d survive that with your bones unbroken?”

I shrug. “Well, even if I broke a few bones, it would be alright if I had enough working body parts to get you out. Then you could get help.”

Everything new from Saving Simon Snow this week gives away a major plot point, so I'm skipping that one. And I've got nothing new for Snow Fox this week, because I've been researching on it, not writing. So a short one (for me) this week!

I'll just tag a few folks, since it's late. @fatalfangirl, @facewithoutheart, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe, @alexalexinii, @frjsti, @yellobb-old, @bazzybelle, @carryonsimoncarryonbaz

Have a good week, everyone!

[ilthit]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

I was tagged by @keirgreeneyes

1. How many works do you have on AO3? 

Not counting orphaned or anonymized, 297.

2. What's your total A03 word count?

803,155 words, and that includes co-author input. I've been a short fic, instant satisfaction kinda writer for most of this time.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Currently trying to finish something for Scum Villain's Self-Saving System, and editing the epic Righteous Blood, Ruthless Blades campaign story with @minutia-r. I get really into a fandom and write a bunch for it, then I get out of the fandom and write whatever + original fiction, then maybe get into a different fandom. You know how it is.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Bonus Material, The Makings of Fate, One Thing or Another, The Upstart King and His Golden Concubine, and Some Sugar for Daddy, all of them Scum Villain. It's definitely the biggest fandom I've written for recently. I used to write Discworld and LotR, which are bigger, but those are mostly not up on AO3 and none are very long.

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I usually do, especially for smaller fandom fics, not always. But even if I don't, I see and appreciate; I also see and appreciate the kudos. No pressure to comment, y'all.

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I have written a fair bit with angsty endings. Maybe The Greyest Timeline (Community); or maybe it just felt angsty, because I wrote it to process my grief over Troy and Abed's separation. Also there may be some I anonymized... but that's my business.

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

What a question. 🤔 I'm not sure I can answer that one. I recognize a lot may have more mixed endings, but there are too many to think through.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Rarely. I can't remember an incident right now.

9. Do you write smut?

Yeah.

10. Do you write crossovers?

Not as a rule. My favourite of the few currently up is The Last Florentian, a crossover between Poirot and Jeeves & Wooster, in which Lady Florence and Miss Lemon fall in love.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes! Sometimes ones I really didn't think deserved it, but it's not up to me, is it? I always give permission.

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

Hehe yeah, the Lin Moniao series, which grew out of TTRPG.

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

Pass!

15. What's the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Original works. My 60s LA gumshoe novel, the superhero comedy that in retrospect is probably not as funny as I thought it was.

16. What are your writing strengths?

🤔 Side characters with interiority. Ability to keep an entire world in my head, and invent on the spot. Flexibility. Sense of the shape of a story. Not getting too hung up on whether what I produce is popular (so I don't write stuff I don't care about just for the clicks, or get distressed if I get none).

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Losing motivation in the middle of writing longer fic. Underthinking. Messy. Unable to edit effectively due to having lost interest. Self-indulgent ficlets that are more me speaking my thoughts out than anything designed for an audience. Piling my plate too high when I get excited for challenges. Occasionally I have to take a break in the Pit of Despair.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

Usually not necessary. Fine if you like it.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Not entirely sure. It was either Dragonlance or Ranma 1/2. Neither will be on AO3.

20. Favourite fic you've ever written?

If the Lin Moniao series counts as a fic, then it's the Lin Moniao series.

Has everybody been tagged? tagging uhhh @minutia-r

[forest-falcon]

WIP Whatever!

Felt Autumn-y today so rattled this off whilst cooking dinner. Not written in a while so just trying to get something out. Hopefully will add a bit to it soon. 🍁🍂🎃🌿🍃

Pumpkin

"Pumpkins, pumpkins, pumpkins, pumpkins! It's pumpkin picking daaaaay!"

Gordon skidded through the living room, almost knocking over the carpet washer, which had taken up permanent residence there with the turn of the season.

"Where are my octopus wellies?"

He rummaged through the old wooden chest situated near the front door. A myriad of odd shoes piled behind him as he discarded trainer after flipflop belonging to his older brothers.

"You're picking all those up." Virgil appeared, arms folded at the mess.

"Am not! People can put them on their feet, duh." Gordon grinned and donned a pair of John's favourite sandals. These would do. He wasn't one for socks anyway and the octopus wellies had probably seen better days...wherever they were.

"You can't wear those."

Virgil materialised a mug of hot coffee from thin air. Now that he was a teenager, Virgil was all about having his coffee in the morning. Mr. adult-y pants. It was a phase. It would pass. Gordon was sure of it.

"And why not?" He wiggled his toes, knowing full-well why not.

"John will feed you to the combine harvester if you baptise his favourite sandals in mud." Virgil quirked a bemused eyebrow.

"What?...Skinny Space Noodle? He couldn't catch this fish."

John wouldn't even try. John was more tactical than that. He'd simply bat his pretty green eyes at his eldest brother, and mini-mum would find a way to get them back; though it looked like not-mother number two had beaten Scott to it on this occasion.

"I don't know..." Virgil's voice echoed from somewhere within his brew.

"How fast can you run in sandals?

"Faster than Johnny-boy, that's for sure!"

"But not faster than me."

Virgil tipped his head back to noisily slurp the final dregs from his mug. Gordon saw his opportunity to slip the net. Darting under Teenage Mutant Ninja Virgil's arm; he took off at a speed befitting a startled ray.

FLIP-FLOP-FLIP-FLOP-FLIP-FLOP

He wasn't even sure he cared about the sandals per se; it was more the principle of not being bossed about. Virgil was not his mum.

Where to hide, where to hide?

Kitchen? No, dining room! He could barricade himself with the chairs...

FLIP-FLOP-FLIP-FLOP-FLIP-FLOP

...Goodie-two-shoes may be bigger than him, but he'd wager that Mr. Muscle wouldn't fit so easily behind the far side of the table.

FLIP-FLOP-FLIP

He had this. He-

"GOTCHA!"

A mammoth hand clutched his shoulder.

Gordon flailed and kicked, but Virgil had him shrink-wrapped in one of his soppy bro hugs.

"Now give Johnny back his shoes."

"NEVER! Why do you care anyway? They're not even your sandals!"

Virgil leaned back slightly so that his hug lifted the squirming squid clean off the floor.

"Last chance."

"Finders keepers, astro-boy weepers!"

"Alright. Can't say I didn't warn you, pumpkin."

"Pumpkin?"

[vincentmatthews]

WIP Whenever

I was tagged by @katsigian and @timaeusterrored thank you loves💕

Hiding it under the cut because this is embarrassing.

~♡~♡~♡~♡~

My Perfect Little Pet

Hunger. That's the only thing that coursed through his fractured mind. His fangs ached at the thought of the only thing that would sate his hunger. Warm, red, copper tasting, sanguine. His wrists bore faded scars of where he'd been forced to feed on himself in the past. It's been two days since he's been free, free from being under his Master's clawed thumb. Free to feed on anything he desired without having to suffer the consequences.

He'd stalked the woods at night, in search of anything that would satisfy his ever growing hunger. He'd found a rabbit, it was small, white as snow, it wasn't much, but it would have to be enough. For now at least. Until he was capable of finding bigger prey.

He held his hand out for the rabbit, beckoning his the small minded prey closer.

"Shh~♡ Don't worry my dear~♡ I won't hurt you~♡.." He hummed softly, the rabbit's ears went back as it sniffed the air, cautious of his next move. His round crimson eyes narrowed as the creature reluctantly stepped forward. The last steps it would ever take.

Before the rabbit had a chance to realize what the pale elf was, it was too late. It was scooped up but his two clawed, thin, icey hands. A set of sharp, cold fangs bit down on the warm, tender flesh of it's neck. He let out a soft noise, as the hot blood reached his chapped lips. The rabbit trashed in his hands, letting out a sharp agonizing squeak before falling limp in his grip.

He growled, his eyes glossed over and fluttered as he drank what little sustenance he'd had in weeks. He doesn't remember the last time he'd fed, yet it made him exhale through his nostrals with a form of ecstasy. His mind was clearer and he didn't feel so weak. He considered it a massive accomplishment, since this is the first time he'd fed without his Master's approval. He felt powerful, liberated, destructive, yet a small sliver of his consciousness bled through. He unclenched his jaws, which seemed more of a struggle than usual. He brushed it off as a reaction to not eating.

He lowered the animal once he was unable to extract any more blood from it. His stomach knawed at the rare feeling of something in it rather than vial blood of rats. It was almost enough to make him tear up. He shivered at the thought that now he was able to eat whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. He could even endulge himself on the one prey his master forbid him of feeding on.

He dropped the twisted, mangled corpse in the grass below. He felt his chest tighten and his stomach churn. If Cazador knew of what he was doing right now, he'd be punished for sure. He took a deep breath, trying his best to brush away those feelings that seemed to bubble up inside of him, threatening to erupt. He was safe now. He was free. He was able to stand in running water without it burning, able to stand in the sun without being reduced to a pile of ash, and he was able to walk into homes completely uninvited. It all felt so new, made him feel powerful, unstoppable even. Hells, he was probably the most powerful vampire right now. A thought cascaded acrossed his fractured mind; perhaps he was even stronger than Cazador. He might even be able to stake his chance for revenge, so to speak.

~♡~♡~♡~♡~

Don't know if I'll ever have the guts to post this when I'm done with it. So I guess we'll see xD

[startrekfangirl2233]

Star! ✨💛 Tell us about Luck Be a Lady? I'm dying to know about this one more!

Oooh, Lucky! Are you ready for this? Luck Be A Lady is my most ambitious writing project to date!

Here's a little summary:

Maia Jane Adler is a librarian, a boring plain, simple librarian. Nothing excites her more than sharing a good book. She even wears a cardigan and glasses and glares at anyone who makes noise at the library. But that's not all she is. As a hacker, Maia lived an exciting, mostly illegal life, until a stupid mistake brought her kingdom down around her ears. She'd narrowly avoided a trip to maximum security prison and vowed to keep her nose clean forever after. At least, that is, until her big brain and unending curiosity got herself into yet another situation - a fighting ring. Working at the fights comes with an oddly secretive bare knuckle fighter named Hangman. From the first words, Maia had known he was bad news. But as time passes and the fights heat up around them, so does the heat between them. But Hangman's got secrets bigger than any she's keeping, and which might just have the ability to destroy life as she knows it and take her down, too.

And here's a snippet from the first chapter!

“Well, hello there, Darling.” Maia stops so suddenly in her tracks that her bodyguard nearly plows through an emaciated blonde teetering on six-inch heels. She vacantly notices that this woman is not one of the waitstaff, so she must be here as eye candy for someone. “Why’s a pretty thing like you not joining the party?” Maia can’t believe her ears. There’s no way this guy is talking to her. Not possible. “Or are you in here to check on whatever is in there before you sit near the safe again with your laptop?” There’s only one person who’s ever seemed to find her when Maia was sitting near the safe. Sure enough, when she turns in place, it’s Hangman standing there. He’s got a shit-eating flirtatious grin on his face as he takes her in, her outfit of a cardigan, tweed skirt, and flat Mary Janes. His gaze burns like she’s been set on fire as his eyes scan her from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. She wonders if the heat in his gaze is because he’s a little drunk and seeing things through beer goggles or if he actually likes what he sees. As it is, Maia’s bet is on the beer goggles because she’s short and unrepentantly curvy, and a man who looks like Hangman would be better off with someone who looks like Hayden. He’s wearing cargo pants and a soft Henley, his hair beguilingly mussed. His muscles bulge out from the sleeves of the shirt. It’s abundantly apparent that he’s here to fight and maybe get laid. Still, the charm he’s exuding is enough to captivate nearly everyone in the room. Hell, Maia can already see the rage on Hayden’s face and the appraising looks from the other women the longer Hangman spends chatting with her. “What’s it matter to you?” Maia’s more than aware she’s being rude. Of course, Hangman seems to be a little taken aback by the bite in her tone. But more than that, it’s the smirk on his face as he smiles like a shark waiting to take a bite of its prey. He chuckles outright, getting into her space like it’s natural to be that close to a stranger. “Because you’re too pretty to be sitting by that safe. Hell, I bet any of the guys in these fights, and probably a good number of the girls, would be more incentivized to win if  you were the grand prize, not just a big pile of money.”

So... yeah... This one is going to be a wild ride! I hope you love it!

Ask me about the WIPs in my WIP List!

[itwoodbeprefect]

Re the tag game: H50, all of them #25? Also I'm not sure if I'm allowed to ask twice but I wouldn't object to hearing more about Our Mr. Wilson!

thank you for your mercy in crossing out “all of them”, because i think i’d have to skip sleep tonight to get that done. :p but two is absolutely okay!

-

Danny Williams and the Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Neighborhood Barbecue

this is a recent addition to the WIP pile! it’s a post-canon fic in which (obviously) danny still lives with steve, when he discovers that steve barely knows his neighbors. so they throw a barbecue to get to know them better, and then (also obviously) it turns out that all their neighbors think they're a couple. everyone keeps making nice comments to danny about it (“how did you meet?” “your boyfriend is good at the grill, but your pasta salad is my favorite!” “oh, i'm glad to see you finally took the step and moved in - i used to see your car here all the time.” “you guys have adorable kids!” etc.) and danny keeps having to explain that yes, they’re partners, yes, they live together, yes, steve is basically raising his kids with him, but not like that, while every new neighbor he meets has the wrong idea all over again and steve seems oddly chill about it. cue eventual confrontation in the privacy of their kitchen, of course, where danny figures out that maybe steve is chill about it for a reason.

these are the first four paragraphs:

The worst of it is that it’s his own fault, and nobody else’s. While walking Eddie down the street, more to stretch his own legs than because the dog needs any more outdoor time considering all the people it lives with that go for daily jogs (which is two, but that’s plenty), Danny sees the neighbor from three doors down watering plants in her front yard. He stops for a friendly little chat, the way people sometimes do if they’ve been decently socialized through the virtue of having an upbringing in which none of their parents faked their death.

When he and Eddie get back home, he crosses paths with Steve in the kitchen, and when he tells Steve he just talked to Mrs. Hernandez about flowers that look pretty but don’t require too much upkeep, Steve says, “Who?”

Which is how Danny learns that Steve, a man who has lived in this very house for most of the years he’s been alive and also loves not only prying into other people’s business but having all of the facts in every possible situation, doesn’t know most of his own neighbors’ names. “How is that even possible?” Danny asks, at the end of a little rant about how stupid that is, which Steve bears alternately with patience and mildly hurt personal pride. “How have you never once thrown a big barbecue to at least know who’s supposed to be walking around on your street?”

“Huh,” Steve says, like he’s pleasantly surprised by the practicality of that suggestion. Danny is fully ready to take that the wrong way and rant a little more, when Steve cuts him off by pulling a notepad and a pen from a kitchen drawer and asking, “Can you make that macaroni salad you do, but bigger?”

-

Our Dear Mr. Wilson’s Guide To Becoming A Successful Contributing Member Of A Team Of Internationally Renowned High-Tech Do-Gooder Criminals

ooh, i’ve had a lot of fun with this one so far! but it’s also specifically early season 1 leverage redemption fic, so it’s fallen by the wayside a bit after it didn’t get finished fast enough and canon had moved past the point where this idea was immediately relevant. it’s essentially a harry POV numbered list describing what (not) to do when dealing with the leverage team - stuff like don’t anger the guy who used to be a hitman (but definitely don’t anger any of the others, because that’s worse), avoid any performance of sophie’s that’s not related to a con, don’t get between breanna and gummy bears.

here’s a chunk of “don’t try to ask which of your new partners in crime are partners with which other partners in crime”:

“So what’s the deal with Hardison and Parker?”

“What deal?”

“Nothing. Just, I get the impression that you and Parker…”

Eliot does not take the obvious invitation to fill in the gap. He just raises his eyebrows, at once vaguely threatening and threateningly vague.

Harry soldiers on. “And when Hardison was still here, it seemed like you and him were also- Also close.”

Eliot rumbles. It’s unclear if it’s in agreement. “Why? Are you trying to figure out if I’m single? I’m being hit on. Is that what’s happening here?”

Not only can Harry not figure out if Eliot is serious or not, he’s also completely unsure if that undertone of a growl is base level grump, an expression of mutual interest, or rising homicidal rage. Harry smiles. “Never mind,” he says, and beats a hasty retreat.

-

send me the title of one of my WIPs and i'll tell you something about it or post a snippet!

[annas-hair-donut]

[image: a purple banner with the words Work in Progress Wednesday in a cursive font]Work in Progress WednesdayCreators: work on or post something from your WIP. This is your weekly reminder to get something down on paper (real or virtual). It’s also a chance to share your progress with your followers and give them a sneak peek of what’s to come!Fans: leave a comment on an unfinished fic and let the writer know how much you love it. Reblog an artist’s sketch and let them know you can’t wait to see the final product. Send someone an ask cheering them on!Feel free to repost this image!

Tagging @thefamilybruno; @annaofthenorthernlights; @glassslippers-n-cowboyboots @keeshya6

Coming off of Smut Week I needed a little break before getting back into The Refugees gear! So here's some fluffy angst from my upcoming (approx. 10 chapter) fic "Head Over Feet" (Yes, like the Alanis song!) about HR!Anna Quinn, CFO!Kristoff Boreman, and female!Hans AKA Gianna West who all work at Elsa's gaming company Frozen Fractals. I hope you like it!

Rated T; this excerpt about 1300 words of Kristanna goodness from chapter 1

Kristoff pinched the bridge of his nose and whined, “You just need to be more responsible. There’s a budget and you need to stick to it.”

Gianna’s words echoed in her brain, and Anna took a closer appraisal of Kristoff than she ever had. 

Even though the office was casual, as Anna understood most offices in the gaming industry were, Kristoff wore an expensive, dark gray suit, maybe five years old, with a cheap black tie every day. His shoes were never scuffed or untied, and there was never a single hair out of place from his slicked back hair. 

His face was always so smooth, freshly shaved, and the fresh scent of Barbasol lingered every time he left her office, meaning he never used aftershave or cologne. Though his eyes were bright brown and deep like wells, they were old and weary, and the area around them was sunken and dark, likely from too much worry and not enough sleep. His shoulders were strong and broad enough to hold up the world so they did.

Anna tuned out the rest of what Kristoff said, focusing on how heartbreaking it was that he put so much time and effort into keeping his life in order, but he ultimately had no control over the things that really mattered. Eventually her eyes settled on the small and barely there freckles over the bridge of his nose, which she’d never noticed before.

As he placed two sets of index and middle fingers, nails so short he could have bitten them to the nub, at the corners of her desk and leaned over, it occurred to Anna that she was one of those things in his life that he couldn’t control. She created chaos and made his life more complicated, and there wasn’t anything he could do about it. She was just one more thing on top of the giant pile of things that raised his blood pressure.

Kristoff was just a person, and he was hurting.

“I’m sorry, Kristoff, I didn’t realize I was going over the budget again,” she said patiently and sincerely. She made sure his eyes caught her gaze before continuing. “Do you mind explaining how it works, because I don’t think I understand. And I don’t want to keep messing it up.”

Anna had just opened her heart to him a little, and it was pounding, hoping that her words meant something to him. Either he would be the decent sort of man she thought he was, or he’d have an even bigger tantrum and make her feel so much worse than she ever had since starting at Frozen Fractals. The last thing she wanted was to cry in front of him, but she felt an unwelcome dampness at the corners of her eyes.

He snapped upright, one hand to his hip while the other hand went to his chin. “Tomorrow morning ok? I have to leave early to get my kids.”

Anna smiled patiently, despite how much she’d gloat over this victory with Gianna later. “I have interviews starting at 9:00. Will 8:00 work?”

The corners of Kristoff’s mouth lifted so slightly Anna almost missed them, and his voice softened into something that felt a little like a tease. “Yeah. I usually get here by 7:00, anyway.”

He did? Even 8:00 was hard for Anna. She could easily stay up to 4:00, but waking up early was something different entirely.

She probably wouldn't get home until very late that night, in fact, or very early in the morning. She bit her lip and thought that whatever she did that night, she couldn't even be a second late for their meeting. If she were, he’d lose all respect for her and he’d never stop yelling and she’d forever feel bad for all of his future blood pressure issues. There was too much at stake to screw this up. 

Feeling better about things after Kristoff stopped yelling, having made a new friend so easily, and having purchased the very last dress available at the store—which just so happened to be her size—Anna felt ready for whatever came next.  Then she spent way too much time on her hair and make-up, but she looked perfect, she thought. Gianna was probably going to have smokey eyes sexy enough for a model, while Anna would have classic and flawlessly exaggerated cat-eyes, just as gorgeous if not as cool. Gianna would probably wear her hair poker straight and slightly damp looking, but Anna’s hair would be plaited into an elaborate but romantic French braid that would make Daenerys proud.

She kept reminding herself that she wasn’t actually going to find the one tonight, but the one tonight, but she tidied her apartment just in case. If some random guy was coming home with her just to sleep with her, she shouldn’t have cared about what her apartment looked like. But, wasn’t there always a chance that fate would give her what she wanted most in life: someone she could love with her entire being? She braced herself for an exciting adventure, then she landed on the side of a cliff.

“Oh, excuse me.”

Anna was a split second away from telling Gianna to take a rain check because the chest Anna had just collided into could just as easily have been the one right now as it could be the one. If she could just turn her head and listen for its heartbeat…

“Anna?”

She lifted her gaze to Kristoff’s wide, blinking eyes, searching for an answer. He looked at Anna for a moment, too, as though not sure what to say either.

“Kristoff? Hi! Do you live here or something?” She tried to be casual about it as she quickly backed away, but he completely took her off guard. 

“Yeah. It’s so close-”

“-to the office,” Anna helped him finish the sentence.

He rubbed the back of his neck, and Anna blushed at the way his forehead wrinkled though his eyes seemed so relaxed, even relieved.

“I’m sorry!” Kristoff said suddenly. “You’re on your way out. I didn’t mean to hold you up or anything.”

“You’re fine,” Anna said with a small shrug. “I’m just meeting up with a friend for drinks.”

“Drinks?” he coughed, betraying his discomfort. Anna smiled slightly when she caught him fighting against checking his watch.

“Are you just getting home from work?” she asked. It was nearly 9:00 pm and he was still wearing his suit, though his tie was loosened and the top button of his shirt was undone, revealing just a hint of light brown hairs curling to escape their jail.

He finally looked at her again, a little color in his cheeks, “No, my son had a basketball game. They lost, but he scored a few points.”

Anna didn’t tell him that she was sure he was good at basketball, too. Nor did she mention the way  his voice hummed with pride at the mention of his son. “It must have been really nice having you there cheering him on and seeing how well he did, even though the team lost.”

“Yup,” Kristoff said, uncomfortably, and the reality of his situation set in. He was coming home late, alone, after seeing his son. Because his son didn’t live with him. Suddenly, Anna understood the toll being separated from his wife took on him. He was separated from his kids, too. 

“Well, I’m in 6E if you ever need anything,” Anna offered.

Kristoff smiled awkwardly, and pointed, “So, 8:00 then?”

Anna raised her eyebrows and smiled. “Night, Kristoff!” she said as she walked away.

Anna turned her head towards him just as she got to the front door and he folded his arms. “8F.”

Anna gave him a nod and a small wave, and waited until she was a block away before allowing her smile grow to its full potential and letting out a small giggle.

[mercurialkitty]

I posted 14,951 times in 2022

93 posts created (1%)

14,858 posts reblogged (99%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@saratsuzuki

@atalethatcantbetold

@zevbaldwin

@itwillalwaysbedestiel

@lifbitch

I tagged 10,290 of my posts in 2022

Only 31% of my posts had no tags

#destiel - 1,227 posts

#cas - 1,217 posts

#castiel - 1,033 posts

#misha collins - 795 posts

#destiel fan art - 505 posts

#dean winchester - 444 posts

#spn - 349 posts

#castiel fan art - 345 posts

#jack kline - 273 posts

#suptober22 - 214 posts

Longest Tag: 138 characters

#is there a fic where jack has his angel powers and just flits back and forth between destiel saileen and kelly households? earth & heaven?

I sent 2 gifts in 2022

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

I was tagged by @tuometarr (💖THANK YOU so much! 💖 ) in Fic Authors Self Rec, which does give a a great excuse to talk about my own fics so here are  my 5 fave fics I have written

Ahem, that's the tag prompt -- actually I am so new to writing, that I don't have 5 favorite fics yet, but here's what I have:

Talks with Dads - Dean and Cereal - It's super short at 875 words, but I think this is my fave thing. My obsession is repairing the Dean and Jack relationship, so this ficlet has a soft spot in my heart. I think it's sweet.

On the Road again - This is the first destiel fan fic I wrote and shared out with the world, courtesy of a @winchester-reload Suptober prompt. So I'll be forever grateful for Suptober. It represents finally getting out there and creating content even in my fandom fifties. It's short at 1,563 words, but I like it, and I put in three Willie Nelson songs via YouTube links. Really, just the song Angel flying too close to the ground is worth clicking the link.

Game Night - Again, this is me wanting to repair the relationships around Jack. This is a heart to heart between Dean and Mary in heaven. It's 2,204 words.

Road Trip for the Holidays - was my first multichapter fic. It's a pile of self-indulgent college!Jack and his family fluff, with Jack's original character friend, and just a bit of Jack and Dean regretful feelz and memories so it's not pure sugar. At 54,897 words, it's novella length, so finally a decent amount of story to get into. I love parts of it sooo much, and yet I have newbie author embarrassment about it.

Instead of a fifth fic, I'll put in a plug for my fave fic that I'm working on. It's a Season 13 fix-it fic -- the formal title not set yet. Again, it's a repair of the Dean and Jack relationship we saw in 13.01 Lost and Found. I've been working on it for a couple years, but I've joined the WIP Big Bang to "Finish your SH**" , and I feel confident about finishing. So keep an eye out for the @wipbigbang and hopefully you'll see a promo when it gets close to the publishing date.

I'm also working on a midam, but I fear that will be a long time coming.

I'll tag a few random blogs who follow me and who have AO3 links in their header or pinned post. I think most blogs are a lot bigger than mine, especially with folks who write, so this may get lost in notes or they wonder who the heck this is :)

@procasdeanating @stillwinchester @damonnscroww @bluefirecas @fellshish @luninosity

Also if anyone else wants to use this as a reason to talk about their work feel free to consider yourself tagged ☺️

16 notes - Posted April 30, 2022

#4

Suptober22

Day 20 - Spa

pencil

Cas, Claire and Jack are at the spa juice bar. Cas and Jack have matching fluffy white robes from their massages. Claire was trying out lounging around with an eye mask, but that's not her thing. She's probably going to head to the pool or a cardio dance workout. Jack's considering reminding her that the eye mask is still on her head, but Claire may not mind. It makes a decent headband to keep her hair out of her eyes until she braids it.

19 notes - Posted October 20, 2022

#3

Hey folks, if you went to Rotten Tomatoes to leave a RoadFood review and didn't find the entry last week, it's been added! I know a lot of us must have asked for them to add it so soon, so congrats to us.

Tell them how great Misha is! 😇

https://www.rottentomatoes.com/tv/roadfood

22 notes - Posted January 24, 2022

#2

So Adam is born on September 29 which is traditionally St. Michael's day. Dean was born in January

Adam was the true Michael sword and Chuck just ignored it because he was so obsessed with Dean.

It's like it was the universe's choice and not Chuck's.

25 notes - Posted October 19, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Misha photo op! Raven @magnificent-winged-beast edited it for me! (i.e., graciously took me out of the image, etc.)

And what everyone told me before is true. You think he looks good in pictures? It is nothing compared to what he looks like in person. Like maybe he has a big aura or something, but he looks even more handsome than most photographs of him. It's difficult to understand.

127 notes - Posted January 21, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[asachuu]

I genuinely thought I’d posted an update on here earlier. Well, it’s been two months, and knowing me, none of this will be fun to type out or read, but for anyone wanting to know where I’ve been, it’s…something, I guess.

So, I’m not dead, though some points on that could be argued. I posted some stuff on AO3 in the meantime, nothing I’m really proud of since it was mostly just clearing my almost year-old drafts that went nowhere in particular…but still, they’re up there for anyone who wants to check them out. Other than that, for this blog, I think I could as well just completely give up on any sort of bigger artworks altogether, though I still hope I manage to scratch up Arthur’s annual birthday artwork, even though my current life circumstances will be making that very, very fucking difficult, so please don’t look forward to it too much in case it just never exists.

In all honesty, I know I drafted an update a month ago, but I couldn’t bear to type it out, because I had one single goal for my break that has long since ended at the time of me writing this, and that was to return to my abandoned fic WIP, which…still sits just as abandoned as it was before, and as many times as I’ve tried to come back to it, I feel as though I’m just incapable of writing anything more, and this isn’t exclusive to that fic alone. For once, I truly hope no one was holding their breath and waiting for a future update anymore, and unless I ever return to it, I’m quite okay if it just fades into the background of my page as though it never existed, as I can no longer imagine being able to return to it, certainly not in this world. In some form of bitter irony, there was one single time I had reignited all my motivation to look through it again and continue, but it was two days before I ran out of any and all time for myself, so all of that got washed away immediately…and one could argue I could clearly still continue it with more time and peace, but in these past two months, to put it very shortly, I’ve had to come to terms with the fact that my circumstances will simply never improve, so as much as I keep wanting to call it “postponed until a later date”, let’s be honest, it’s fully abandoned, and I truly apologize to any potential reader of mine out there.

I’d rather not bother digging into the fact that I started working on an animatic somewhere in the past months, because I’m beyond glad I’ve never spoken about it nor teased it in any way as it’s also on a pile of things that’ll never be complete, and frankly, that pile is just growing, so much so I don’t quite know what I’m truly writing an update for in general. On one hand, it’s to say I haven’t died, disappeared, abandoned this blog or anything like that, but on the other, it feels like I have nothing to give anymore and everything to take back, and I don’t know if I’m jumping the gun way too much by saying this just…won’t really change going forward. Unfortunately, I can’t satisfy either side this time, as anyone wishing to see some more content from me won’t be too overjoyed by this, and anyone wishing I permanently retire will probably have to wait just a bit longer yet again, but trust me, I’m not satisfied either, though I can’t do much about it.

In any case, that’s all, really. Though I don’t know what’ll happen going forward, maybe I’ll manage to surprise everyone including myself and come back with things I no longer thought possible, there’s a higher chance of me abandoning this blog once and for all somewhere on the horizon, and I’m not saying either of those have a high probability at all, it’s just that one is far more realistic.

[millennialgrandma]

2022 Wrap Up

On the plus side, I'm certain I didn't do as much damage as last year. On the other plus side, I still read a hell of a lot of words. I think one of the factors in the reduction of readings is that I went back to the office (and traveling for work again) after Labor Day. I think probably the bigger factor here is that I started writing. I'm still just a little baby writer, but it does take a lot of effort. I published 32,517 words in 2022, which is wild and wacky and crazy for someone who's just fucking around and trying not to find out. I also spent some time lending my voice for opportunities that were too good to pass up. A truly mind-boggling number of hours were spent narrating portions of MoaM for a massive radio-show style project spearheaded by @rideboldlyride, as well as narrating a couple of chapters of a drarry fic for the 25 Days of Podfic in December.

Traditionally Published Books

In the name of transparency (and because it is here on this blog for all to find), I gave myself a goal of reading 12 books in 2022: one for each month of the year. That...did not happen. I read exactly two books: Morning Glory Milking Farm was the monster romance of my dreams; The Song of Achilles left me in a pile of weeping wreckage.

Total word count on traditionally published books of approximately 165,000 words.

Completed Fics

The vast majority of fics I read this year were in the Harry Potter fandom, although I did venture out to other fandoms every now and again. We'll keep those stats separate for simplicity's sake.

Harry Potter

In 2022, I read a total of 227 completed fics in the HP fandom, for a total word count of 2,121,452 words. The four fics that started the year in WIP status (and were subsequently completed) will be included in the WIP word count below.

Because I can, I want to break down some of the data.

The longest completed fic I read in 2022 was Draco Malfoy and the Mortifying Ordeal of Being in Love by isthisselfcare at 199,695 words.

The shortest completed fic I read in 2022 was that's my witch by mrsren coming in at 591 words.

I tend to gravitate toward one-shots for the factor of ease. When observing completed works only, one-shots comprise 86% of the fics I read this year, but only account for about 42% of words read.

My busiest month in sheer number of fics read was January, with 56 completed fics read and updates on 5 WIPs. The busiest month in terms of words read was February, with a total of 547k words read.

The last data point I wanted to spotlight was fics I read together with a group. This includes reads for various holidays, spontaneous group reads, birthday group reads, active WIP group reads, and multi-chapter group reads. This isn't something I track in my airtable, so I'm digging back through my old posts to tally this up and hoping for the best, but in 2022 group reads accounted for:

- 84 of one/two-shot fics read

- 4 of multi-chapter fics read

- 4 of WIPs read

I'm actually flabbergasted now that I see those numbers, because I attend as many group reads as I can, but there are still SO MANY that I miss.

AO3 RATINGS

Far and away, I read more Explicit fics than anything. They account for a whopping 76% of fics read. Fics rated Mature make up another 13%. I feel very little explanation is needed here: I'm a horny monster. The end.

PAIRINGS

Dramione remains my most widely-read ship, referenced as the sole main pairing in 174 (or 75%) of the fics. Only 45 of the fics I read (or 19%) had non-dramione main pairings, with the most popular being drarry, theomione, panville, ronsy, and krinny. The remaining handful of fics (those that don't fall into exclusively dramione, or explicitly non-dramione) are filthy, dirty threesome/foursome/moresome smut, which pair dramione at some point among the tangled limbs.

I adore rare pairs, and even found myself writing some this year (tomione, charmione, panville, krumgood, and bean)! Some of the rarest pairings I read this year included: Sirius/Minerva; Theo/Narcissa; Goyle/Hermione; Cormac/Hermione; Lucius/Pansy; Viktor/Ginny; Draco/Ron; and Thorfinn/Hermione.

Other Fandoms

I dipped my toe into the SW fandom and read one (singular) reylo fic, clocking in at 38.7k words. I was also lured into the S&B fandom to read a few darklina fics, aggregated to 13.2k words.

All in all, non-HP fics read this year totaled 51,905 words.

WIPs

At the start of the year, I was following 14 WIPs. Of these, 4 of them were completed during the year, and the word count on those remaining chapters was 171,161 words.

I picked up several more WIPs throughout the year. As of December 31, I am actively following 19 WIPs, with a few others that have been sitting on my back burner (read: no updates in 2022). Word count on the active WIPs is 664,725 words.

Total word count on WIPs is 835,886 words.

Final Tally

And with that said, my 2022 fanfic word count was 3,009,243 words and my tradpub word count was 165,000 words, for an approximate total of 3.174 million words read for pleasure this year.

This comes in at just shy of 41% of 2021's total fanfic reading, which is absolutely fucking bananas to think about. Clearly I didn't read near as much as I did last year. Though I still feel pretty pleased with the amount of reading I accomplished considering I did a fair bit of beta reading for some lovely writer friends this year, published 32.5k words of my own, and recorded a handful of hours of audio for a couple of fandom projects.

And let's be honest, this is probably a healthier balance anyway. I'm so excited to see what 2023 brings!

[arewecoolio]

1/?

A/N: I’ve been messing around with past and present tense when writing fics and I’m still undecided on which tense I want to use for my next wip. However I actually finished a small scene in present tense, so here it is. One of my wips. Also it’s not addressed here, but I’m picturing Anya is like 4/5-ish.

Summary: An awkward introduction to House Dimitrescu.

Wind howls against the entryway, Anya shivers again, and you adjust your hold on her, lift her a bit higher and tighter. Your knuckles ache with the cold and sheer force as you pound against the castle doors again. 

It's been five minutes of waiting and knocking at the door to no avail, the snowstorm continuing its onslaught even now you felt a burst of wind run through the entryway and cut through the flimsy coats you had piled on the two of you. "Cold." Anya murmurs, and tightens her grip on you. Just for the night, you remind yourself, you could beg and bribe one of the maids into letting you stay somewhere warm and isolated. Surely the castle was large enough for that. 

Finally you try the door handle to find it's oddly unlocked, but you barely dwell on that fact as you step in and quietly shut the door behind you. 

Anya lifts her head off your shoulder to look around and you can't help but take a second to marvel at the wealth of the castle. High ceilings, marble floors, artwork---you tear your focus away and keep to the sides of the walls, further into the castle. Lights are lit along the hallways, but the castle is dead silent. 

Entering technically is only a minor infraction, so long as you don't break anything, as long as you don't meet the Dimitrescu’s, you'll be fine. Your eyes burn with exhaustion and Anya's head falls back to your shoulder as she lets out a tired sigh. 

"I know baby, I know." You murmur soothingly, running your hand along her back as you decide to find the nearest secluded room and sleep. Tomorrow you could deal with the maids, or whenever someone found you, but you hoped by then you and Anya would be long gone. 

The first door on your left is unlocked, and you wonder if they've ever heard of locks. Inside is thankfully empty, and equally ornate as the rest of the place, there are no couches, and you vaguely recognize a small enclave for the Duke, one or two empty chairs, large enough to fit you and Anya comfortably. You shift her in your arms and look along the walls, a table rests along the back wall of the room, and unless someone was truly looking for uninvited guests under the table you wouldn't be seen. 

Awkwardly you climb under the table and place your bag against the wall, forcing yourself to try to relax and enjoy the safety and warmth while it lasts. You try to fix the bag and adjust it so that Anya lays more comfortably, she stirs at the movement, but doesn’t wake. With a small sigh of relief you lay back and stare up at the table for a moment, proportionally the chairs and table are a bit bigger than normal, aren’t they? You spend another few seconds considering it before exhaustion overtakes you. 

You dream of parties and churches, of a grip that feels suffocating. 

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

You're vaguely aware of voices speaking quietly, and doors closing somewhere in the house. Anya stirs slightly on your left, before she settles and nuzzles closer into the crook of your shoulder; already sleep is slowly overtaking you again, a light pleasant hum comes from your right and something brushes along your temple. Your hand shoots up and grips the wrist of the person, focusing just as quick to glare at the---Attractive woman who's sitting beside your bed. Memories came flooding through, reminding you where you were. When were you moved? You focus on her again, on the fact that your hand doesn't wrap around her wrist, and the ghost of a smile on her lips. Her eyes look gold from here. 

What a wonderfully terrible introduction to House Dimitrescu.

[awellboiledicicle]

Woke up at 4am, couldnt sleep. Messy wip for seafaring au be upon ye

The thing with time travel is that there are approximately tens of thousands more variables present than humans could possibly understand. Largely because they simply do not exist on a level that let's them see the fabric of reality as a sort of crochet rug, strung together by time, space, and a good deal of Arceus getting bored and fucking with things. The last bit is the main rub, because Arceus fucking loves making rugs.

And its children are responsible for parts of all of them, watching their parent disappear into piles of existence yarn for spans outside time, only to reemerge talking about how this one doesn't have one thing or adds another. All this to say that time is weird, space is malleable, and humans have generally no idea how Dialga and Palkia sort through it. Much less how hard it is to sort through rugs when wormholes and Giratina are running around sewing them together when no one is looking.

This is largely why, when the subway master Emmet fell into the Jubalife training grounds--head first, into the water troughs-- Dialga and Palkia felt like they'd helped. Sure he was convinced Ingo had been missing for three years, and a newly restored Ingo insisted it had been seven, but that was nothing to Dialga. May as well have been a blink. Besides, the twins were happy-- and that was the goal. It was also likely why they, along side Arceus and Giratina, thought all was well when they opened yet another portal to where Unova should have been. In theory. To help, Arceus aimed-- because it did make the world after all.

Which was a problem. Because Arceus loved to make rugs. And after a while, they blend and differences aren't that easy to spot if they're--on a cosmic level-- small.

A flash of light after the portal closed and all felt satisfied. Well, on the Hisui side.

--

Falling out of the sky was never a fun experience. Even if time and space stayed just a bit melty enough around the twins as they popped into existence, letting the ground not hurt so much, it still did hurt. It also smelled remarkably like the last time Gear Station sponsored a river and beach clean up that ended with the twins hating the smell of sunbaked plastic.

Largely, Ingo supposed, because they'd landed on a beach with a surprising amount of junk on it-- and a surprising lack of pokemon of any kind. Even in the dubiously safe rivers around Unovas bigger cities the shores had plenty of pokemon popping up. His time in Hisui prompted the mental addition that it was much too quiet for Unova. The palm and towering, vine and moss covered trees were likewise pointing to--

"Where the fuck are we now?" Emmet, as usual, cut to the point before Ingo got there. The eldest twin tended to overdo his words, and in Hisui learned to boil it down some what-- but nowhere near his brothers near deadpan. It.. was nice to have back. Even if they were lost again.

"Hm. It appears we have been sent to the incorrect stop." He tugged at his goatee as they helped each other stand and start looking around. A large rock face loomed to one side, a slope obscured by bright flowers and plants he didnt recognize hid the rest. Definitely not Unova. He rolled his eyes at Emmets answering 'no shit' expression. "Unless Nimbasa redecorated?"

Emmet couldn't help the small smile in response. It was nice to have Ingo joking again, at least before they addressed whatever happened now. Which, being who he was as a person, he wasnt able to put off.

"We are lost, again. But! You are Ingo, and I am Emmet. We are together, this time." They shared a smile. "And this place is verry dirty!"

Ingo started up the slope for a better view and his brother followed.

"Nature does that!" He snorted when Emmet poked his arm in retaliation. "You're right though. It's worse than the drunk train on the beach... at least inland seems in order. Well, as much as nature is. Hm."

They created the hill and Emmet mirrored his twins sweeping gesture as they looked over what wasnt undergrowth. Ingo seemed to be getting more out of it than he was, but that's what older-- and at this point, he reminded himself bitterly, much so-- brothers do. Know things and help you learn. He'd missed that, even if it was just trivia.

"Odd." Emmet waited for the follow up as Ingo gestured to one of the nearby plants. "Nanab bushes, no berries. Plenty of tropius looking leaves, but.. no tropius."

They cocked their heads in unison.

"And no chatot or... I hear a flying type somewhere but not a lot." Ingos mouth twitched down in the right side, a sign he was deeply confused. "A tepig? Perhaps an emboar? A ways off. If this is an island, that could be a problem. If its connected to land, I don't like the safety implications."

An unsyncronized head tilt from Emmet. Ingo shifted a bit and squinted up at one of the trees.

"It smelled like the ocean, so if it's an island who knows how far we are from other people. If its connected to land, and this isolated, something must be keeping it that way." A twitch at the left of his mouth as he chewed slightly on his cheek in thought. "I propose we move forward, slow. Engineer Sparks may come in handy."

Thus was fine with Emmet, as he was--quite frankly-- trying very hard not to vibrate out of his skin. Letting out his Galvantula would give him a moment to pat it, and then they'd be able to talk while it scouted-- he assumed Ingos new-to-him gliscore would also be looking around. It wasnt that important to him, though.

They'd only had a chance to speak for a few hours in Hisui, and most of that time was spent trekking to the settlement Ingo had been calling home when not out on his own. Emmet staring intently and butting into Ingos explanation to this Irida person. Daring her to say he couldnt bring ingo home.

Then meeting Lady Sneasler as Ingo apologized for having to leave. That part had been partially why Emmet hadn't been thrilled to keep chatting. It had felt like a sort of betrayal that Ingo wasnt as laser focused on going home, but he understood. After the fifteen minutes it took Ingo to stop being mobbed by sneasle.

And the following hour long ceremony of him passing the warden title to some kid that Lady Sneasler promptly started grooming. And then the twenty minutes Ingo spent trying to refuse the baby sneasle the noble pokemon held out to him. It was now in one of those antique pokeballs he'd had, tucked safe in a pouch.

Ingo had only brought those two, which felt odd to Emmet. Probably due to himself having been carrying a team of three. Well, Chandalure would likely argue it was on Ingos team, but it was in its ball and unaware of the time travel shenanigans. They'd wanted to surprise the pokemon, as a treat. Also because Ingo--upon remembering the ghost pokemon-- had flatly informed him that he'd cry and would like to leave with some manner of reputation in tact. For Iridas sake.

Emmet, with the practiced ease of a professional battler, pulled out his Galvantula's ball and tossed it in the air. And then caught it. He tried again. He pressed the button. Nothing. With a noise best described as panic, he looked to his brother for literally any answer as to why the pokeball was not doing its thing when it had for the last decade.

"That's not good."

"NO SHIT."